Home by the Sea
by a.narnian
Summary: 'I will break you, Emrys. I will break your will, your heart, and fear will take you.' What starts as a treasure hunt becomes a test of Arthur and Merlin's destiny. Set after series 4. Rated 'T' for some violence, minor coarse language.
1. Eldward's Tale

**Author's note  
** This story comprises of nine chapters and an epilogue. Updates will be weekly.

The story's been written primarily for the pleasure of exploring the ideas, and, of course, it won't appeal to all readers (a lot of it is paced quite slowly, for example, and the characters don't always behave and speak as the TV series might suggest). This is the longest piece of fiction I've written, and the second in- well, a very long time, so please forgive the inadequacies you find.

I owe enormous thanks to wryter501, both for reading this and giving me feedback, and for being a sounding board to bounce ideas off. Thank you!

And now, sit down, and welcome to the home by the sea.

* * *

 **Chapter One: Eldward's Tale  
** 'I don't even know why we're going on this stupid quest,' Merlin grumbled as he tightened the straps of Arthur's saddle. 'Surely, as king, you have better things to do than go chasing after some supposed treasure which probably doesn't even exist.'

'Only you, Merlin, could both acknowledge my kingship and be thoroughly insubordinate at the same time,' came Arthur's reply from the other side of the horse.

'You'd be surprised,' Merlin muttered as he checked the saddle bags.

'What was that?'

'I said cook was all out of pies, so I haven't packed any. Will that be a problem?'

'No- no, that's fine,' came the slightly hesitant reply. Arthur had a sneaking suspicion that he had just been insulted.

'And of course, as if it wasn't enough that we're off on a wild-goose chase, the story his majesty has picked up on has it that this pile of gold awaits in a cliff-face somewhere. Even if it _did_ exist-'

'It does!'

'-which it doesn't, how would we get it out?'

'If people can get treasure into a hole in a cliff, they can get it out as well.'

'If that was the case, then there'd be little point in our going to look for it.'

'What?'

'If these miraculous people who fly about putting treasure in cliffs could take treasure out of cliffs, they probably would have done it, wouldn't they? There's not much point in just leaving treasure somewhere. The whole point of treasure is that it's valuable when you can get to it, not when you can't.'

'Shut up, Merlin.'

Merlin grinned to himself as he watched his king head across the courtyard to speak with a council member. He was partly complaining out of habit. It would be good for all of them to get out of the castle. Arthur _did_ have other things to do. The trouble was that he had had other things to do for months on end now, and it was beginning to manifest itself in occasional bouts of considerable grumpiness. How Gwen put up with it, he couldn't imagine. Hopefully this little jaunt would resolve the matter.

Little did Merlin know that Gwen _didn't_ put up with it. She didn't have to. Arthur just took out most of his ill temper on Merlin.

* * *

The origins of this particular adventure lay in a rather unexpected occurrence one month earlier: Arthur had taken a hitherto unknown interest in the library. He had previously appeared to take after his father, who had recognized the importance of knowledge in a general way but only took an interest in it if it furthered Camelot's position, preferring therefore to leave the library to Geoffrey of Monmouth as court librarian and historian, and a handful of others. On those rare occasions when he had required something from it, Geoffrey had supplied it.

Geoffrey knew, however, just how deceptive appearances can be, recalling as he did a winter's day long ago when a certain little blond-haired, blue-eyed boy had peered around the corner of the doorway with wide eyes to stare at the rows and rows of shelves.

Catching sight of some movement in the corner of his eye, Geoffrey had put down his quill and turned to face the newcomer.

'Why, who're you?' he asked, smiling.

'Ar- Arfur,' said the little boy shyly as he inched forward, then self-consciously scratched his left calf with his right foot.

'That's a good name,' said Geoffrey gravely. 'That's the name of our prince, you know.'

The little boy giggled and nodded.

'And what brings you here, Arthur?'

Big blue eyes looked up at him. Arthur swallowed, and then it came out in a tumble of words.

'Please, Mr Geoffrey, Ellie the maid says that you've got books and _books_ of stories here. She sometimes tells me stories.'

'And you would like to hear some more?'

The little boy nodded enthusiastically.

Geoffrey hummed, as if thinking it over.

'Well,' he said slowly, 'since you have the same name as our prince… Come here, then, and let's see what we can find.'

And so they had gone hand in hand among the shelves to find Arthur stories about dragons and princes and princesses and great heroes. The little prince had been absolutely thrilled, and would sneak off to visit Geoffrey in the library whenever he could for some years. Geoffrey never spoke of this to anyone. Uther would not have approved of their literary excursions. He was fairly sure that Arthur knew that, too. It was their secret to share, and no one else's.

The prince's visits grew increasingly rare in later years as he found himself with more duties, and in any event, he had an uncomfortable feeling that he was meant to be beyond this kind of thing. Once a certain annoying manservant joined his household, he was even more careful to make sure that he kept his very few trips to the library to himself.

On this particular day, then, Arthur _had_ required something from the library - the treaty drawn up with Mercia, there being talk of renegotiating it - but Geoffrey had been ill and Merlin had been on some errand or other that Gaius had allegedly sent him on. Arthur was fairly sure that 'on an errand for Gaius' was code for 'getting blind drunk in the tavern', but - somewhat uncharacteristically - he had left it at that and ventured into the library himself.

When Merlin had gone looking for him five hours later and had scoured the whole of the castle in vain, he had been so astonished by the news that his majesty had last been seen heading for the library that he had initially refused to believe the young serving boy who had told him.

'To the _library_?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Don't call me 'sir'. Do you actually know what a library is, Albert?'

'Yes, s- yes.'

'What is a library?'

'It's where all the books are.'

'And you're telling me that the _king -_ that's King Arthur, ruler of Camelot, not some visiting dignitary - has gone _there_?'

The poor boy nodded miserably. He had not asked for this. He considered himself lucky to have the position - a very lowly one - in the castle at all. His family barely got by as it was, and he lived in daily terror of being found wanting, in case their meagre income should drop still further.

Merlin sighed. 'Alright, Albert. I believe you. Run along.'

The boy disappeared and Merlin resigned himself to the fact that he was, after all, going to have to look in the library. When he walked through the door, he saw no sign of anyone.

'Of course not. The very idea was ridiculous,' he thought to himself, but at a loss to know where else his master might be, and not unhappy at the prospect of having some time to himself in what Geoffrey otherwise treated as the most sacred of spaces into which no manservant should dare set foot, he ventured further onto that hallowed ground. Imagine his surprise, then, when he turned a corner and found Arthur sitting at a table, surrounded by books, fully absorbed and oblivious to his surroundings. Imagine how much greater that surprise was when Merlin leaned over his shoulder and found that he was reading a collection of myths. The king was reading _stories_.

Merlin coughed loudly, and Arthur shot up with a guilty expression on his face, almost banging his head on his manservant's chin.

'Merlin! Why are you creeping up behind me? Where have you been, anyway?'

'I was running errands for Gaius. What are you reading?'

'I'm- what business is it of yours?'

'None, my lord. None at all.'

'That's right.'

'I just thought that if I knew what you liked, I could perhaps find some more of it for you.'

Arthur's expression slowly changed as he thought this through. If he confessed to wanting to read stories - worse, told him about his secret past - then Merlin would never let him live it down. However, Merlin probably knew the library better than him now, and might be able to find more of these wonderfully enticing books. Then, the last piece of the puzzle fell into place: Merlin had been looking over his shoulder. He already knew what the king had been reading, so if he didn't confess, then he would get the taunts and no additional books.

'They're books of myths, Merlin. They're amazing! This one's about the quests of a man they called Bruta's archer. He's just escaped from an underground maze. Have you read any of this stuff?'

Merlin grinned. 'Some of it, yes. I don't get as much time as I would like to for that kind of thing' - he coughed meaningfully - 'but there are some truly remarkable works down here.'

'You could find me more?'

'Certainly, so long as Geoffrey isn't available. He doesn't like me coming in here. He says I mess things up.'

'How do you know where to find things if Geoffrey doesn't let you come in here?'

'Just because he doesn't want me in here doesn't mean I don't come in here.'

* * *

So began a regular routine, in which king and manservant would spend an hour or two in the library, whenever the king's schedule permitted it. Merlin would find Arthur more books, and Arthur would devour them. Merlin made solemn promises that he would not tell anyone what Arthur was reading. He only told Gwaine, who only told everyone else.

Somewhat to Arthur's surprise, Merlin's teasing over Arthur's newfound interest was minimal. The truth was that Merlin was pleased for him, though he certainly was not going to tell him that.  
Then, one morning, Arthur had come into Gaius' chambers where he found the old man and his protégé working and placed a book on the table in front of them.

'Gaius, this book that Merlin found me in the library the other day - it's not like the others. I thought at first that it was a book of myths, but it seems to be history. The strange thing is that I'm pretty sure that not all of it's right. There's some stuff in here about the days of my grandfather, and I'm certain that my father told some of it differently.'

Gaius adjusted his glasses and inspected the book. 'Ah, Eldward. Yes. I'm afraid he was notoriously unreliable, sire. He wrote history, but when he didn't know something, or didn't like what he did know, he simply made up new facts.'

'So you're saying that some of this is true, and some of it isn't?'

'Indeed, sire. It makes for entertaining reading, but it isn't very helpful to the true scholar.'

'How do you determine which bits are true?'

'I don't think you really can, except by comparing it with other works. Why do you ask?'

'Well, some of what this Eldward has written is fascinating. I was wondering what to make of it. Look at this passage.' He opened up the book, and passed it over to Gaius, who read it out, squinting to make out the words on the marked page.

' _In the twelfth year since Dunwallo's ascension, there grew in him a curiosity to know the length and breadth of his kingdom, its mountains and valleys, rivers, lakes, islands and all the bounteous wonder therein. And there came to him one by name of Alder, from whom he heard tell of a cavern of wondrous proportion. For its opening lay high in the cliffs of Merethor, yet its inner length reached to realms unknown, opening even unto the silent lands beyond this earth. Overcome with awe, Dunwallo sent forth Eorlric and Hanfell that they should find the whereabouts of the cavern, and bring back news of whether it truly extended beyond the earth. Eorlric alone returned, and would speak only these words:_

 _In high cliff-face, above the firth,  
Shadow doth meet the careless soul;  
Passage there beyond the earth  
Doth not await, and there a toll  
Is laid upon each man of worth._

 _Yet gloom conceals the greatest treasure  
And there one day he who is bold  
Shall find bounty for life, beyond all measure,  
And in the darkness, shining gold._

'This is fairly typical fare, sire. Eldward's accounts are full of these kinds of tales.'

'But is it true?'

'Well, it seems exceedingly unlikely that Eldward would have known this kind of detail about what happened in Dunwallo's day, although it's unusual for him to quote any kind of verse at all, so I suppose it's possible that it was handed down to him by others - but even that doesn't mean that it's true.'

Arthur fell silent for a moment. Merlin looked at Gaius, who shrugged.

'Well, thank you, Gaius. I'd better be getting back to looking at this treaty. Merlin, don't forget that I am expecting you at mid-day.' With that, Arthur picked up Eldward's account and swept out of the chambers.

Two days later, he informed Merlin that he should prepare for a two-week journey to the Seas of Meredor.

* * *

And so it was that on a cold, grey spring morning, the king's manservant found himself in the courtyard of the castle next to a small contingent of guardsmen, checking over Arthur's horse one last time and making sure that he had packed everything.

'All done!' he said cheerfully to no one in particular.

At that moment, Elyan, Gwaine and Percival walked around the corner leading their horses. Gwaine sauntered over to Merlin.

'Another hare-brained expedition with Camelot's finest,' he muttered to the younger man with a wink. Turning to look at Arthur as he approached from the far side of the courtyard, he continued, 'Best thing about working for this king: you're never short of opportunities to do ridiculous things.'

'You'd be off trying to find trouble of your own if it was any different,' Merlin replied dryly.

'You know me too well,' laughed the knight.

'If you two ladies are quite done chatting, I think we're ready to leave,' said Arthur.

* * *

Merlin turned in his saddle as they rode slowly up the path out of the valley. In the distance, the towers of Camelot rose out of a sea of dark greens and greys. The sight of the forest surrounding the castle usually lifted his heart, for where the Forest of Ascetir was dark and heavy, Camelot's was home to oaks, beeches and hornbeams, and full of shifting patterns of light. But a mist now drifted between the trees, and the castle was partially shrouded, white stonework muted to grey. He shivered, and urged his horse on after the last of the men who had already disappeared over the lip of the valley.

Riding up the line, he was soon side by side with the king. They had long ago abandoned any pretence that Merlin would show deference by keeping behind him. Even if he had, no one would have believed that it was down to _deference_ \- it would simply have been assumed that one of them was in a mood.

Merlin eyed the king, trying to work out how to ask what was on his mind.

'Arthur, do you think it's sensible to look for this cave?'

The king sighed. 'In case you hadn't noticed, Merlin, fifteen of us have just set out with provisions for a two week journey. I have spent several days making extensive preparations to ensure that Camelot is well looked after during our absence. Gwen and the council have been fully briefed. The army is in excellent shape. Leon has remained because he's an able commander and tactician. We have brought birds with us to allow us to communicate with anyone we need to. The effort involved in getting this far has not been insubstantial. Whatever you are trying to ask, I have committed to this expedition and you should have asked it before.'

'You don't _need_ any more gold.'

'Merlin, you know that last year's harvest-'

'Was poor, yes, and you did the right thing in not requiring as much in tax from the farmers, but we've got enough to keep us going until the next harvest, so-'

'Sorry, who put you in charge of the treasury?'

'Arthur, _you're_ the one who told me only last week that we had enough.'

Arthur paused.

'You know what?' he snapped. 'You're right. And it doesn't matter. We're going anyway, because I'm sick and tired of being cooped up in that wretched castle.'

'You could just have gone on a hunt.'

'You have no sense of adventure, do you, Merlin?'

'I don't mind adventures. It's bandits and near-death that I mind.'

'Oh, pull yourself together. We're not turning back.'

They rode on in silence for almost a full minute and a half, before Merlin tried again.  
'But we have almost no information at all about where this cave is. How are we going to find it?'

'I know the lands around the Seas of Meredor. They're largely flat, except in one place: at the castle of Fyrien. I know that the cavern can't be in the cliff-face beneath the castle itself; my father scouted that area extensively in his battle against Caerleon and kept maps of all that he found. I've studied them, and there's nothing there beyond the tunnels we've already been in. But I know that he went no further than the peninsula the castle was built upon. The hilly country around it wasn't strategically important - but where it backs on to the Sea, it forms great cliffs that follow the shoreline for a few miles. If the cavern is anywhere, it has to be there.'  
'But the verse said that the opening is high in the cliff-face. How are we going to find it?'

'Bruta's men can't have spent all their time climbing up and down the cliffs. It would have been too dangerous, given the winds, and it would have taken too long. It must be possible to see the mouth of the cave from the ground. We'll have to wait for the tide to go out in some places, but even you can probably manage that.'

'Alright, but...'

'Do you know any words besides "but"?'

'Let's just set aside the fact that you're the king,' said Merlin, ignoring the king's complaint, 'with all that that means, and that we're probably wasting our time because from what Gaius said, Eldward was an accomplished liar, or at least a dubious source, and that if the cave is as easily found as you suggest, someone probably lifted the treasure years ago - don't you think that even if the cave does exist, Eorlric's words might have been a warning?'

'A warning to cowards, Merlin. You would do well to bear that in mind. He says that the bold shall find treasure. Besides, what's the worst that can happen? He just says that it's dark in the cave.'

'He says that a toll is laid upon each man of worth.'

'Then there's nothing for you to be scared of, is there.'

'Arthur, can you just take this seriously for a minute?'

Arthur looked at his manservant, and, reading concern in his eyes, he softened.

'Look, you're the king. I don't want anything to happen to you. I'm not worried for myself. _You_ are a man of worth, Arthur. I'm worried for you.'

'I know, Merlin,' the king replied gently, 'and I'm not ungrateful. I _have_ thought about Eorlric's words. But I'm sure we'll be fine. We've come through everything else, haven't we? And the best knights in the five kingdoms are coming with us. If we can't succeed, who can?'  
'I just- I don't know, I have a-'

'Go on, say it, Merlin!' Gwaine, who, unbeknownst to the two men, had quietly ridden up behind them and had been listening in, was suddenly by their side. Merlin looked confused.

'Say what?'

'Ignore him, Merlin,' instructed the king.

'No, don't ignore him, Merlin,' the knight said with a roguish smile and the beginnings of a laugh on his lips. 'What were you going to say?'

'I was going to say- well, I was going to say that I have a funny feeling-'

Gwaine burst out laughing and waved his hand in Arthur's face. 'Told you! I told you it'd be just after we left the valley. You, my lord, owe me five gold pieces!'

Arthur looked distinctly annoyed. 'Honestly, Merlin, how is it that you can spend the best part of ten years with me, and on the one occasion when it actually matters when you announce your funny feeling, you don't do it when you normally would?'

Merlin looked even more confused.

'I'm afraid we had a little bet at your expense,' Gwaine confided, still laughing. 'His majesty and two other knights owe me a nice little sum of money.'

Merlin scowled and dropped behind Arthur, who had the grace to look slightly embarrassed.

* * *

That night, after they had set up camp, eaten and Merlin had done the washing up - not entirely without complaint about others profiting from his labours - the company lay around the fire. Sitting on his own, Arthur watched them. The creation of the Round Table was changing Camelot. Although the king had proclaimed parity between the knights and himself, that sense of togetherness had spread far beyond the throne room: there sat Elyan, talking with Haldred, Erbin and Eudaf; there sat Gwaine, roaring with laughter over some story that Geraint, tears rolling down his cheeks as he barely managed to get the words out between gasps, was telling him; and if the other soldiers sat in little groups of their own, it was not because of any divide between them and the knights.

In his father's day, nobility was lorded over the peasantry, and the customs of the court required strict separation. Now, word was that throughout the kingdom there was a sense of a new beginning, and a greater respect and care for each other than Arthur could have hoped for. For all the doubts that Arthur sometimes felt about his kingship, he felt no doubts about the Round Table.

As his gaze wandered around the company, it finally landed on Percival and Merlin. The two men were lying on their backs, looking up at the sky, and Percival was pointing at something. Arthur's eyes followed the direction of theirs.

Spring had been slow in coming to Camelot, and the mists of that morning had accompanied them all day, finding their counterpart in the dull flint of an overcast sky; so when the sun had set, a complete darkness had descended, unbroken except by the light of the fire. Now, however, a miracle was occurring above them: a great clearing had been rent in the heavens, and where earlier the world had felt small and enclosed, Arthur could now see far, far out of his world and into a strange place of both darkest darkness and brightest light.

The moon was waxing gibbous and shone down brightly on them, a brilliant, pure light unlike any on earth. The stars, too, were brighter than usual as the Plough swung above them, furrowing the sky. On either side of the celestial clearing, the clouds marched silently past at great pace, and as the moonlight caught their edges, their bodies turned dark underneath and they became ghostly apparitions heading relentlessly out, as if to some great battle. He shivered. It was very wonderful, but very otherworldly.

It was said that the ancients saw in the night sky a realm very different from the one that they lived in: that it was the home of perfection, where no wrong was done and where nature itself behaved differently, as the spheres of the planets and the stars trod their stately paths, never veering from them, while on earth all nature was unpredictable, and men fickle and prone to ill deeds. Some of the books Arthur had stumbled across had hinted at a King who ruled that realm, and whose love for his creation gave it life and motion. Arthur had not understood much of this, and the writers were vague, but he was struck by the idea that a king might love his kingdom and the kingdom come to life because of that love. It was a far cry from what Uther had taught him of kingship.

As he watched and thought, he became aware of a quiet conversation.

'...three of them.'

'Which ones?'

'They're almost in line with each other.'

'Oh, yes - yes, I can see them!'

'Orion's belt. You see there are two brighter-'

'Who's Orion?'

'Who's Orion, Merlin? Who's mighty Orion, greatest among hunters?'

'Tell me about him!'

Arthur smiled. There was a time when he would have rolled his eyes at Merlin's simple, eager curiosity, but perhaps his little stint in the library showed that he was not so different. More than that, though - and he wasn't at all sure how it had happened - Merlin had somehow managed to make a place for himself in Arthur's heart, and Arthur couldn't help but take pleasure in his friend.

He _would_ have rolled his eyes if he had thought anyone was watching. Sometimes, he wished that their relationship worked a little differently. That business in the tunnels beneath the White Mountains told the whole story: a declaration of friendship, promptly retracted in order to save face. Their incapacity to speak their care and concern for each other more directly was probably the result of how they had met - he, an arrogant, self-indulgent noble; Merlin, a rude peasant with no real sense of propriety. Granted, that had allowed their unlikely friendship to form in the first place, but Arthur knew that neither of them had ever quite got over the need to prove something to each other. He needed to prove that he had what it took, whatever _that_ meant. Merlin - well, he wasn't sure what Merlin needed to prove, but the banter was partly protective. There were things Merlin wasn't telling him.

Yet in these little unguarded moments, Merlin's guileless, almost childlike curiosity revealed the gentle and enthusiastic nature that was so firmly part of who he was - the true Merlin, as Arthur thought of him.

At that moment, and without warning, the man in question sat up a little, turned and looked straight at him, and their eyes met. Surprise registered briefly on his manservant's face, and then a smile spread slowly across it, broadening into a full grin. He held his master's gaze like that for a moment, and then lay back down and carried on listening to Percival.

What on earth had that been about? There were things Arthur would never understand about Merlin.

It wasn't until much later, as Arthur was nodding off, that he realized that he had been smiling when Merlin had turned to look at him. Merlin had turned to find his king smiling at him.

Perhaps things could be different in future.

* * *

That night, Merlin dreamt. It was the same dream he had had since coming to Camelot. He was running up a hill, running as hard as he could. The ground underfoot was soft, green, springy turf. Wildflowers grew as far as the eye could see, their scent filling the air delightfully. Somewhere off to his left a stream ran downhill and sang merrily in the golden glow of the morning.

As he looked up, he beheld a sight that made him gasp, and he almost stopped running. It was the source of the dawn light: not the sun, but a great tree whose boughs spread wide over the summit of the hill. Its leaves were a deep green, and golden fruit hung from its branches, and from it came a gentle radiance, as if light itself had embraced form and now shone forth across the land, illuminating it and giving it fresh life.

Merlin picked up his pace. His body knew no tiredness; his legs rejoiced in the motion, his lungs breathing the life of the tree, his heart filled with hope, a giddy delight rising up in him, and he sped towards it.

It was not far off now.

He awoke the following morning with a smile on his face.


	2. Meredor

**Author's note  
** Thank you to all of you who have decided to follow this story - it's encouraging! - and to those of you who've reviewed. I'll generally reply to reviews by PM, except where a reviewer doesn't have a login, where I'll do this:

 **Guest:** 'vivid' is what I was hoping for, but you never really know what'll work for other people - so thank you for letting me know!

* * *

 **Chapter Two: Meredor  
** 'Just what is _wrong_ with you, Merlin?'

'Oh, I'm sorry, have I dropped one of your bags? You have so many of them that it's difficult to keep track of them all.'

'Then don't carry them all at once. Make two trips.'

'Lovely. Instead of sympathy, I'm told to work harder.'

'You're my servant, Merlin. Working is what you do. You should have managed to grasp that by now.'

'I'm sure there's meant to be a difference between a servant and a slave.'

'Not when it comes to you. Now will you get on with it?'

Grumbling, Merlin knelt down to pick up the bag, and promptly lost his grip on another. He cast his eyes heavenwards and sighed. This was going to be a difficult day.

'Lend you a hand?' came Elyan's voice.

'Please.'

Elyan picked up the offending bags and took two more off Merlin, and the two of them walked from the horses over to the new camp. It had taken four days to reach the Seas of Meredor. Once there, Arthur had led them to a sheltered dell in the side of one of the hills that rose up to create the great cliffs. They had brought tents, being unsure of how long they would remain here, and four of the soldiers were currently setting them up, while Gwaine, Percival and the six other soldiers scouted out the area. There was no known threat here, but Arthur did not believe in taking chances. The last thing he wanted was bandits taking them by surprise.

'Arthur being a bit difficult, then?'

'He's always like this on the first few days of a mission. It's because he has to get up at the same time as everyone else, and he's _really_ not a people person first thing in the morning, so he's absolutely at his best. I'm the natural target.'

Elyan grinned, saying, 'It's only because he knows you can deal with it.'

'I'm pretty sure it's because I'm in his face all day long, actually,' Merlin grinned back. 'But I don't mind. I'll make up for it by being extra cheerful at him later on. I know how much he loves that, especially when he's tired.'

Elyan laughed and clapped Merlin on the back. 'He's lucky to have you.'

'Try telling _him_ that!'

* * *

The scouts returned a few hours later.

'Report,' said Arthur.

'We've scoured the countryside for miles around, sire,' answered Percival. 'There's no sign of anyone ever coming here. No old fireplaces, no damage to the vegetation, no horse droppings, nothing. I'd say that no one has been here for many months, perhaps much longer.'

'Hardly a surprise,' added Gwaine. 'The valleys ten miles away are fertile, and easy to till, but it's all chalk and limestone up here - not much fun if you're a farmer, and there's little point in bandits coming here, since it's not exactly on the way anywhere.'

'We have found a path leading down to the beach, sire,' said Geraint. 'It's a bit tricky in places, but it'll give us easier access than if we had to work our way back down the hill and then across and through the gap south-east of here.'

'Excellent,' said Arthur. 'I think we'll still keep watch, but it's unlikely we'll be disturbed while we're here.'

'I'll believe that when we're safely on our way home,' muttered Merlin, who had been on too many missions with Arthur to be lulled into a false sense of security.

'Well, it's only early afternoon, so we might as well make our way down to the beach,' said Arthur, ignoring his manservant's comment. 'We can try to spot the cave from there.'

Geraint led them to his discovery. At some point in the past, a great rock avalanche had taken place and a jagged section of the cliff-face had fallen away, leaving a steep descent. Arthur inspected it with interest.

'Well, it seems we aren't the first people here. Look - just there, you can see that steps have been cut into the path, although they've nearly worn away now and they're overgrown. I suppose that must have been when Fyrien was still alive and there was enough trade to need to be able to get around the area more quickly. This would have been a useful place to keep a lookout for ships, but it would have been very tedious to have to get to the castle by the long route. At least that means that we'll probably be able to get back up here, and not just down.'

They made their way down the sloping path carefully. The ground was uneven, covered in clumps of grass and small shrubs and loose stones, and a misplaced foot could lead to a rather swift journey down to the beach. They would have to come up again before night fell; in the dark, the path would be treacherous.

'What now?' asked Merlin when they finally stood on the beach.

'We'll split up. Gwaine, Percival, you take six of the others and head towards the promontory over there,' Arthur said, pointing. 'Divide up the stretch in equal parts as you go, so that two of you can check each section.'

'Any idea what we're looking for?' asked Gwaine.

'Not really. It'll be an opening of some kind in the cliff-face, but I can't say how high up it'll be, or how large, so we're going to have to look quite carefully. Make sure you get close enough to the water to be able to see the high sections of the cliff-face properly. We'll do the same in the other direction.'

* * *

Scouring the cliff-face was more difficult than Merlin had expected. The cliffs sometimes jutted out, sometimes receded, so that he had to keep walking backwards and forwards, and from one side to the other, in order to check one small area before he could move on. Although the sky was a dull grey once more, the white chalk of the cliffs took what little sunlight there was and threw it back at him, blinding him. A relentless wind tore at his eyes, making them water. Great gusts that seemed to cut straight through his jacket would suddenly cause him to stumble, and threw up the spray of the sea to drench him. That the beach was all shingle only made the process harder; his boots were not very sturdy, his feet kept slipping and his legs were getting tired. Merlin was wet, exceedingly cold, and very fed up.

'This is ridiculous,' he said to himself. 'Why am I doing this?'

The answer was walking backwards towards the water a few hundred feet away from him, hand shielding his eyes against the glare. Merlin, shoulders hunched, arms wrapped around himself, watched. When he had come to Camelot, scarcely eighteen summers old, he had had great difficulty believing that Arthur was the Once and Future King of prophecy. The man had been intolerably self-centred, amusing himself in the discomfort of others and clearly driven by a profound insecurity that manifested itself in a remarkable lack of self-reflection and a need to belittle others. A better man might have laughed and let Merlin's insult pass when they met - but then, a better man would not have warranted the insult.

Of course, as Merlin had soon realized, Arthur owed much of his character to his father. He had lived in continuous fear of the man's opinion - a constant underlying sense that he did not measure up and that he was a disappointment. Not that Arthur had always done as Uther wished. He had always had more concern for the people of Camelot, had always felt duty-bound to take risks for their sake, and had been willing to defy his father both secretly and to his face. Still that fear had always been there and had informed much of who Arthur was. Although Merlin would have spared Arthur the pain of Uther's death, he was far from sure that it was a bad thing that Arthur would no longer try to prove anything to him. Perhaps the king could now become his own man.

Merlin smiled to himself despite the cold. When he had found himself somewhat unwillingly thrust upon the equally unwilling then-prince by Uther, he had not understood quite how much truth lay in Kilgharrah's claims. That they were united in a common destiny despite their differences had become clear soon enough, but neither of them could have understood then just what they would end up being to each other. He wasn't sure that they really understood now, beyond this simple truth: that Arthur without Merlin was as unthinkable as Merlin without Arthur, even as it is unthinkable that a coin should lack one of its sides and still _be_ a coin. If Arthur had threatened Merlin with exile when reminded that he still loved Guinevere, and when Agravaine's betrayal was so nearly discovered, yet it was to Merlin to whom he had looked when he had found her ring, and to Merlin to whom he had turned when his heart was torn, and so proved the lie for what it was. It was Merlin who had known his king's heart, and Merlin who had guarded it, and it was Merlin who now, against all his expectations, could conceive of no world in which he would not do so.

So he had decided long ago that if Arthur insisted on running off on missions the wisdom of which, unlike the discomfort they would bring, was really not apparent, he would be by his friend's side. That apart, Arthur _was_ king, and that this meant that in the end it was for him to decide what they did. Merlin would not undermine him. He believed in the Once and Future King, in Arthur. And more: their destiny seemed to work despite - or perhaps through - Arthur's willingness to take these risks. It seemed that this was how Arthur was to be shaped into a wise and compassionate king, and how Merlin was to learn to use his magic.

His magic. The smile slowly faded and the cold bit more sharply. It had been almost ten years now. He was still pleased to be Arthur's servant. Nothing had changed since that night when he thought he was going to his death on the Isle of the Blessed. Arthur was a great warrior, and now he was a great king who had indeed learnt to listen as well as he fought. Well, almost. But this too had not changed: Arthur still didn't know him.

His thoughts ran down a well-worn path. He couldn't tell Arthur, because Arthur was the king. Arthur couldn't ignore the law when he was its embodiment. He couldn't tell Arthur because the fewer people who knew who Emrys was, the safer Arthur would be. He couldn't tell Arthur because it'd be another betrayal, and Arthur had had more of those than was fair. He couldn't tell Arthur because he'd be forcing him to decide whether or not to execute his friend. He couldn't tell Arthur because he might lose him.

But against all this stood the great mountain Destiny. There could be no doubt that during Arthur's kingship Camelot had become a better and more justly ruled kingdom, but that was not the full extent of the prophecy. Merlin was to be instrumental in the return of magic to the land, and he had now become so used to hiding himself from Arthur that he could scarcely imagine how he would stop doing so. He had comforted himself with the thought that he was helping Arthur become a great king, but the truth that gnawed at him, that he had never been able to fully ignore, was that he was scared, and while his mind desperately told him that there were other reasons for not telling Arthur, it was his fear that drove him. He was scared that he might die, scared that he might lose his friend, scared that he might fail those who placed their hope in him, and the fear was paralyzing. He didn't know what to do, and the tears that ran down his cheeks were no longer just brought about by the wind.

Mercy broke through his thoughts in the form of a distant shout. Merlin's eyes snapped open and he saw Arthur gesturing at him, telling him in unmistakeable terms that they were not on holiday and that he was to get on with it if he didn't want to be left on the beach for the night.

* * *

If the group that returned to the camp that evening was disheartened by the fact that they had not found anything, they did their best not to show it. But after three more days, the despondence that had settled upon all members of the expedition could no longer be hidden. They had scoured the cliff-face from end to end with nothing to show for their efforts. The elements had contrived to fight them at every turn as grey clouds became heavy rain, whipped into their faces by the wind, soaking them to the bone. Two of the soldiers were plainly unwell. Even Gwaine had succumbed to the general sombre mood and said little.

On the morning of the fifth day, Arthur looked out over the cliffs to where the sea merged into the leaden skies and knew that the mission had failed. He sullenly gave the order to break up camp. The sooner they got back to Camelot and forgot about this whole mess, the better.

'Arthur-'

'Not now, Merlin.'

'I know you're-'

'Please, Merlin. Not now.'

Merlin returned to where Elyan was dismantling a tent and began to help him. As much as he shared the disappointment of the others, he was glad that no danger greater than the common cold had befallen them and that they might for once return to Camelot safely and unharmed. He had not thought Arthur right to so casually dismiss Eorlric's warning - for that was plainly what it was: a warning - and had had enough advice in the form of dragon-wrought riddles to treat veiled hints of danger and reward as not being a good reason for action.

Kilgharrah, to his credit, would have told Merlin that, given his experience, his relief was foolish. It was certainly short-lived.

'Sire!'

The cry came from just beyond the cliff-edge. As Arthur walked towards it, he saw Percival standing near the top of the path down to the beach, one hand shielding his eyes, the other pointing out across the cliff-face.

'What is it, Percival?'

'I was just walking along the path; thought I'd get in one last look for the cave before we leave. I've always looked down because the path isn't really very safe, but as I started out I looked up briefly, and I saw - well, look for yourself.'

Arthur looked at where Percival was pointing and saw nothing. As he stepped forward, he suddenly saw that part of the cliff a few hundred yards away seemed to move. Squinting, he moved slowly from side to side, backwards and forwards. Percival was right.

'Great,' said a voice behind him.

'What are you complaining about now, Merlin?' he replied without turning around.

'You're going to want us to do something stupid and dangerous.'

Arthur grinned. 'Glad you like my plan.'

* * *

What Percival had seen was a small shelf of rock that jutted out from the cliffs. The shelf wasn't completely flat; it had what could only be described as a small wall on the seaward side - not tall, but high enough to ensure that anyone looking up from the beach would not be able to see a section of the cliff-face about six to eight feet high immediately behind the shelf. The shelf itself would probably blend into the cliffs from below. Percival had happened to be looking in the right direction from the right angle, else he would never have noticed.

'Do we have to do this?'

'Shut up, Merlin. Gwaine, tie the rope to that tree over there and I'll lower myself down.'

They had spent some time wandering along the edge of the cliffs, lying on the ground every so often to look down as they tried to find the shelf. There had one been one hair-raising moment when Gwaine had insisted that he needed to pull himself out so far that he would topple into the sea if he was to see what was below properly, and Percival had had to cling on to his legs, but they had eventually found the rocky protrusion. It was about ten feet from the top of the cliff where they now stood.

'Arthur, don't you think perhaps one of us should go first?' asked Elyan.

'Why?'

'Because you're the king, and I don't want to have to tell my sister and the council that I allowed you to be thrown off a cliff by the wind.'

'He does have a point, Arthur.'

Arthur sighed and nodded. Loathe as he was to admit it, they were right. Being king did not mean simply doing whatever he pleased, so he watched as Elyan tied the rope around himself, took a firm grip on it, and leant out backwards over the sea. His face a mask of concentration, he slowly lowered himself, occasionally glancing down to make sure that the shelf was directly beneath him.

Above, the men waited anxiously, Geraint now lying on the ground to watch Elyan's progress.

'Easy!' he shouted. 'The shelf isn't very big. You don't want to push yourself out too far, or you'll miss it. Small steps - that's right. You're nearly there now.'

'Done it!' came the shout from below. They breathed a collective sigh of relief. Then another shout.

'Arthur - we've found the cave!'

Merlin's heart sank.


	3. Shadow

'Can you see anything?' Arthur called down.

'It looks like a tunnel,' Elyan's reply floated up. 'About wide and tall enough for two men. I'd say the floor slopes downward initially.'

'Suggestions?' said Arthur, turning to the others.

'Form a scouting party to see how big the cave is. If it turns out that it's likely to take us a long time to explore, then we'll set up camp again,' said Gwaine. 'And if there _is_ anything in there to take back with us, then we can sort out how we're going to do that once we've found it.'

'We'll need torches and a means of lighting them, which means we'll have to go back to the camp,' said Percival.

'And we should probably take some more rope and others bits and pieces,' said Arthur. 'Elyan! We're going to pull you back up so that we can get everything together for a scouting party. Percival, Gwaine, pull him up and we'll get back to camp.'

Once they had returned to the partly disassembled camp, they quickly packed all they could imagine needing.

'Armour?' asked Merlin.

'I'm not sure that we'll need it,' said Arthur. 'With the cave being that high in the cliff-face, it's unlikely that there's anything living in it other than bats, and climbing about in armour isn't going to be easy.'

'Elyan said that the tunnel seemed to slope downwards. There might be another opening somewhere.'

'I suppose you're right. Alright, we'll take it. Bring some sacks or something so that we can lower it down.'

Merlin nodded and turned to get Arthur's armour.

'Merlin?'

Merlin turned.

'I know you're not keen on all of this,' Arthur said quietly so that no one could overhear. 'I won't think any worse of you if you don't want to come into the cave.'

Merlin stared at Arthur. 'You- _what_?'

'You're my manservant, Merlin, not a knight. I know that you constantly come with me into situations that you shouldn't actually have to be put in. You can stay up top if you want to.'

'Arthur, I've faced bandits, an afanc, a griffin and a dragon with you. I've fought with you to protect Ealdor, and against the Knights of Medhir, and far more besides. I didn't _like_ any of it, but that's not the point, is it?'

Arthur looked at Merlin who was standing before him, arms akimbo, glaring defiantly. He grinned. 'Thought so. I just wanted to give you the option.'

'Thanks, but no thanks, then.'

'Then stop dawdling and get my armour!'

Merlin stuck out his tongue impishly and did as his lord bade him.

* * *

'Slowly!' Arthur shouted from the ledge up to Geraint as a bundle was lowered down to him. Catching hold of it, he undid the knot. 'You can pull the rope back up! We'll call once we're back. Shouldn't be long!'

The knights were standing in the tunnel, fastening their armour while Merlin lit some kindling with the flint in order to light the torches. Arthur proceeded to the front and turned to the others.

'Ready?'

They nodded, and followed him single file into the darkness.

The tunnel was straight and sloped downwards, as Elyan had said. Merlin, who was bringing up the rear, looked behind every so often and watched the light of the seaward opening diminish behind them. Even as he did so, a horrid feeling began to take hold, telling him that it was not the light that was dwindling but the darkness that was silently creeping up the tunnel, long tendrils drifting out along the floor, walls and ceiling, curling around them to welcome them and pull them deeper into itself. He shuddered.

He had never spoken with anyone of the moment he had thrown himself into the Dorocha's path. He had never felt so vulnerable as in that moment, when an icy touch from another realm had stabbed into his heart and his mind and left him with no defence. His magic had leapt up within him to thwart the attack - and had been broken without hesitation, and as the power trickled out of him he had felt touch, sight and sound recede. His mind had wandered, surrounded by piercing screams echoing in the utter darkness, and he had felt his soul being agonizingly and inexorably torn out of his body by a force he could not fight. Later, he had become half-aware of what the knights were doing, had tried to stop Arthur, but ever and again the blackness had claimed him.

The Vilia had not been able to heal him of the fear and the memory of the helplessness, and now that he found himself once again facing total darkness broken only by torchlight - by a light that illuminated little, that could not and would not last - the fear was beginning to stir afresh. As the last of the daylight behind them twinkled into nothingness it seemed to him as if the outside world itself had disappeared, and a heavy weight settled in the pit of his stomach. The air became thick and still, and the only sound was his breathing and the steady _click_ and scuff of boots on rock.

The group finally rounded a corner, and stopped.

'What is it, sire?' Percival's voice.

'Rockfall,' came Arthur's terse reply. 'We're- ah.'

As Arthur was speaking, Merlin saw a torch moving slowly across the rock wall in front of them. Then it dipped down to the ground.

'Merlin!'

The manservant squeezed past the knights to his king.

'What do you- oh. No, Arthur. No way. I am not-'

'Yes, you are. You're the smallest of us and you're not wearing armour, so you'll be more mobile. If you can't get through, then we'll know the rest of us can't.'

'Arthur, I don't-'

'Off you go, Merlin.'

'But-'

' _Now_ , Merlin.'

Merlin nodded reluctantly. Before him, the tunnel ended in a great heap of boulders, rocks too heavy to shift piled on top of each other. But down by the floor, in a corner, was a hole just large enough for a man to squeeze through. He slowly lay down on the ground and pushed his torch into the opening, staring after it, his heart thundering. He couldn't see beyond the firelight at all, but the torch met no resistance. He wanted to look up, to look at Arthur, to beg him not to make him do this - but he couldn't. Arthur would laugh at him, ask him whether he was afraid of the dark, and he couldn't bring himself to tell the truth.

Hopefully the rockfall would only be a few feet in length. He took a breath and pulled himself into the hole.

The ground was cold and hard, and littered with small, angular bits of rubble from the rockfall. Once he was fully inside, he found that his hands and boots slipped whenever they tried to make purchase on the floor. Trying to find some other way to move himself, he reached forward with both hands to find something to hold on to. As he did so, his shirt rode up and a piece of rubble dug in sharply to the exposed skin as he inadvertently thrust himself down upon it. He gasped at the sudden pain and quickly pulled his hands back to lift his torso.

In the end, he settled for pushing the torch forward a little, reaching out a short distance and pulling himself along, inch by inch, by the jagged edges of the rocks around him that cut into his hands. Six feet. Twelve. Soon, he lost all sense of how far he had come. And still the tunnel sloped downward.

Merlin was terrified. He knew that there was not enough space to turn around. If this wretched hole didn't lead anywhere then he would be stuck here: he could not climb backwards up the tunnel. The knights would not be able to get him out. The sweat clung to him, ran into his eyes, made his palms slippery, and he started to feel sick. He closed his eyes and swallowed. Push the torch, grip the walls, pull himself forward. Push, grip, pull. Come on, Merlin. Push, grip, pull.

Then the torch hit solid rock. There was no way forward. Merlin nearly threw up as his fears manifested themselves.

'Arthur! Arthur I can't do- I'm stuck, I can't-'

He barely got the words out, his eyes brimming. And there was no reply.

'No!' he bellowed in desperation.

He jabbed at the rock with the torch as if that would move it, and as he did so, saw that there was space above him - just enough to pull himself over the mass of stone before him. He reached upwards and gripped the stone, tears running down his cheeks, coughing and gasping as he pulled himself over it, frantically now only trying to achieve one thing: to get out of this hole.

And then he _was_ out. There was nothing on the other side, just the cold, hard ground of the tunnel. He was through.

* * *

As Arthur watched Merlin disappear into the hole before him he was suddenly struck by the fact that he had just done something very stupid. Merlin wasn't trained for this. He wasn't meant to lead. He wasn't in the tunnel because he wanted to lead - he was here because he was _following_ , and following Arthur. And Arthur hadn't even made sure that they could get his faithful follower back out. He gnawed at his lower lip as the boots in front of him gave a final kick and vanished.

They stood in silence, waiting and listening. The scrabbling sounds from the hole soon died away, until after what felt like an eternity, a faint sound came back to them.

'...o!'

Arthur exchanged a worried glance with Gwaine, and immediately got down on the floor.

'I'm going after him. Gwaine, rope. If he's stuck, we'll need-'

Even as he spoke, Merlin's voice drifted down the tunnel to them.

'...through. Enough space... Percival might... tight squeeze... okay.'

'I'm going first,' said Arthur.

* * *

When Arthur finally reached the other side, he found his manservant standing by the wall, arms wrapped around himself, torch on the ground by his side.

'Alright, Merlin?' he asked tentatively.

'Fine,' came the reply accompanied by a wan smile.

'Good. Good, let's - wait for the others, and then we can get going.'

Arthur could have kicked himself. Why was it so hard to say that he was sorry, that he had been wrong to send Merlin first and that he wouldn't do it again? Why couldn't he and his friend be more straightforward with each other? It wasn't as if they had anything to lose by- but here came Gwaine, and the thoughts were soon driven from his mind.

* * *

They quickly fell back into their earlier formation, Arthur leading them forward, followed by Gwaine, then Elyan, then Percival, while Merlin brought up the rear. They had not gone very far before Arthur stopped abruptly.

'Sire?' came Percival's voice.

'There's another tunnel leading away from this one,' Arthur's reply floated back, 'and if there's one, there are probably more. We need to make sure that we can find our way out again.'

'When we went exploring caves as children, Gwen and I used to scratch arrows into the walls in case we got lost.' Elyan, Merlin thought. 'They would point towards the exit, so that we knew which way to go.'

'Good call,' said Arthur. 'And we'll number the arrows. The tunnels may circle back on themselves. Gwaine, hold your torch here.'

A sharp scraping sound.

'Done.'

The company moved forward again.

* * *

Merlin had no idea how long they had been walking down the tunnel for. They would stop every so often to mark the opening to another entrance, and then move on, never straying from their original path. It quickly became apparent that if they wanted to explore all the tunnels, they would need much longer than they had anticipated. Still, this was only meant to be an initial scouting mission. Eventually, the floor evened out and the group stepped out into a wider space, and halted. Merlin held his torch aloft. The ceiling was hidden somewhere above the light and the walls disappeared off the to the left and right.

'Probably some kind of cavern,' said Arthur, and his voice echoed around them as he turned from marking the entrance to the tunnel they had just come down. 'Gwaine, you and Percival follow the wall in that direction' - he pointed to the right - 'and Elyan and I will go in the opposite direction. If anyone comes across any more tunnels, mark them. Merlin, you stay here and keep that torch aloft so that we can tell whether we're just walking away from you or whether the walls curve around.'

Merlin watched as two sets of lights set off in opposite directions, getting smaller, footsteps losing themselves in their own echoes and then fading into nothingness. It was difficult to tell how far away they were, but they began eventually to move forward rather than sideways and then back towards each other, but now opposite Merlin rather than parallel to him. Arthur's guess was right: it was a cavern. The lights stopped, and then headed straight back towards him, across the middle of the space.

'Well, it's probably about a hundred feet across, with six tunnel entrances,' said Arthur.

'What now?' asked Merlin.

'I suppose we could just head back to the others and tell them what we've found, re-establish the camp and try to map out roughly what we've found so far so that we can explore it better tomorrow.'

'What about setting up camp in here?' asked Gwaine.

'No!' said Merlin quickly and more loudly than he had intended, and his voice reverberated around the cavern.

'What's wrong, Merlin? Don't like the dark?'

'No. I-'

'Merlin's right,' said Arthur. 'We don't know anything about this place. We don't know where the other tunnels go, or whether anything lives down here. I don't think it would be wise to sleep here.'

'It'd be quicker than having to traipse up and down that tunnel every day,' said Gwaine.

'Yes, but the risk is too high. Merlin's right,' Arthur repeated, and Merlin looked at him. It had been clear enough to him that Arthur had been trying to make himself apologize earlier on, and he suspected from little comments in the past that Arthur knew that whatever had happened when the Dorocha had taken him had left a mark. Come to think of it, that was probably partly what was behind his offer to allow Merlin to stay behind, and he knew his master's tone well enough to be sure that the uncertainty about what might lurk in the darkness was not Arthur's sole reason for rejecting Gwaine's suggestion.

'Well, by my reckoning we still have some time before we need to head back, anyway,' Gwaine continued, unperturbed. 'Let's take a look at one of the tunnels.'

'Alright, then,' said the king. 'We'll take the one directly opposite this one on the other side of the cavern.'

'Why that one?'

'Because it has a man-made doorframe.'

* * *

The knights and Merlin gathered around the entrance to the tunnel. The mouth was flanked by two tall, upright stones, about a handspan in width, across the top of which lay a crosspiece.

'Well, it's not a doorframe, anyway,' said Gwaine. 'No hinges.'

'No, but it's still clearly man-made,' replied Arthur. 'Nature doesn't equip the entrances to chalk rock tunnels with neatly hewn bluestone frames.'

'Nor write upon them,' said Elyan, who was studying the stonework closely. 'Look. They're hard to see, but if you hold out your torch to one side and stand like this...'

Merlin, who was standing next to Elyan, followed the knight's gaze and suddenly saw a myriad of symbols carved into the hard rock, covering every inch of it. He reached out slowly - and stopped, his hand almost touching the surface. A very faint power was radiating from the stone. He traced one of the symbols with his finger tentatively, frowned, and traced over it again. There was no doubt. It lay somewhere deep within the stone, but it was there.

Magic.

'I think I've heard of these,' said Arthur, who had joined Elyan. 'When I was a boy one of my tutors told me that our runes are based on much older ones. That one, for example.' He pointed at a symbol comprising of an upright line topped by a jagged one. 'It looks a lot like _ea_. It's just missing the bit on the left. But I'm sure old Erbin said they hadn't been used in centuries. These must be ancient.'

'Unless their meanings have changed a lot, they don't make any sense,' said Elyan. 'Listen to this: _deep your power be blind_... It's nonsense.'

'Well, whatever it means, this is the best sign we've seen so far that what we're after is down here somewhere,' said Arthur. 'Let's go.'

As the men heaved up their packs, Merlin laid his hand on Arthur's arm and drew him to one side. The king stopped and looked at his manservant, who suddenly wondered how he was meant to tell the man that there was magic in the stones.

'There's something- _wrong_ about this,' he said quietly.

'Something _wrong_?'

'Yes.' He decided to take a risk. 'Come here. Put your hand here. Like this.'

In a remarkable display of self-control, Arthur bit back all comments about his being the one to give orders and laid his hand on the cool stone.

'Can't you feel it?'

Arthur concentrated. He almost _wanted_ to feel whatever it was Merlin was talking about - but he shook his head. 'Sorry, Merlin,' he said gently. 'I don't understand what you mean.'

'You can't feel _anything_?'

'Nothing at all.'

Merlin bit his lip and looked at the ground. He didn't know what else to try.

'Please, Arthur. Don't step beyond the stones. Don't go down the tunnel. At least let's try to figure out what the runes mean.'

'Are you two coming?' yelled Gwaine.

Merlin's head snapped up. There, already part-way down the tunnel, stood Gwaine, Elyan and Percival.

'See, Merlin?' said Arthur quietly. 'It's fine. Nothing's happened.'

'Don't go. Please. I _know_ there's something wrong about this place.'

Arthur looked at Merlin, torn. He didn't believe him, but he also knew that Merlin didn't speak like this except out of genuine belief. There had been a time when he would simply have ignored him, would have told him to stop being a girl's petticoat and to get down the tunnel, but he found that it wasn't in him to do that any more: he knew now that it wasn't fear for himself that made his manservant speak up.

'I'm going with the others, Merlin,' he said slowly. 'But,' - the torchlight revealed that Merlin was drawing breath to protest - 'I promise I'll be careful. Alright?'

Merlin shook his head, but Arthur, as little as he wanted to hurt him, wasn't going to let his manservant's irrational fears dictate his behaviour. He stepped across the threshold, and Merlin held his breath.

Nothing. Nothing had happened. Arthur was fine. He almost laughed in relief. The fear had been so _real_. Perhaps it was just the consequence of years spent watching Arthur put himself in dangerous situations that had made Merlin so nervous. Still, it was strange. He was rarely wrong about-

No, wait. Not nothing. Not nothing at all. Something was stirring, as if a breeze had suddenly sprung up in the cavern, yet it was no breeze, for if anything, it felt as if the air was becoming thicker. Soon, Merlin's skin was pricking, and then he felt it: the power emanated from the stones, curling, rising, the runes beginning to glow - 'Arthur!' he yelled - and then the darkness suddenly lashed out, leaping down the tunnel, wrapping itself around the men gleefully and consuming them.

Merlin stood alone and stared at the point where they had been. There was no sound from the tunnel. They had gone.


	4. Memories

**Author's note**  
A slightly different kind of chapter, so I beg your patience: its role will become apparent later on. Translations of the Old English can be found at the end of the chapter (though, not knowing anything about OE, I expect there are quite a lot of mistakes).

* * *

 **Chapter Four: Memories  
** The dawn broke quietly, red fingers creeping into the sky behind me as I stood and looked down on the village. I could ill afford the time, but this was home, and I didn't know when I would see it again. Not far away stood the little house where I had been born and raised and I couldn't help but smile. My parents had been so proud when Aneirin had come during my twelfth summer and offered to take me on as his apprentice. Aneirin, who was held in such high regard, offering to take _me_!

'But I have no skill as a healer,' I had squeaked, overawed by his suggestion and already frightened of failing him.

'You have not asked me, but I you,' he replied gently. 'I see more in you than you can see in yourself. I am not wrong. All I ask is that you believe me.'

I turned to look at my father and mother, both smiling at me. They believed Aneirin already. Perhaps, it occurred to me later, they had already been able to see what he saw.

'But what if I- if I-'

'Fall short? Fail? You will. We all do. I'm not asking you to be perfect, only to learn from me and help me as best you can.'

'Will I- will I have- to leave?'

'For a while,' Aneirin replied. 'You will travel with me.'

My heart rose. 'Always with you?'

'Always.'

'So I'll see mother and father often?' For Aneirin came here at least once a month. He seemed to have a knack for turning up just when he was needed.

He smiled. 'Very often.'

'Then yes - yes! I would very much like to be your apprentice! Please.'

I didn't realize until years later just how unusual what had happened was. It was rare for any of the boys in the village to be taken on as anyone's apprentice; even more rare for someone to _ask_ to take one of us on. It was absolutely unheard of for the boy in question to actually be involved in making the decision - what would he know of his best, or his family's best, after all? Yet my parents had put the choice in my hands, confident, I think, of their only child's answer but trusting me to decide nonetheless.

The greatest surprise came some months later when we were in the village of Brynna attending to an elderly lady who had broken her arm and the door suddenly banged open as one of the village elders came rushing in.

'Aneirin! Bandits! They've been seen in the next valley on the western trail!'

I didn't understand. I had thought at first that the man had come to warn us, for the trail led straight through the village, but he seemed to expect my master - a healer, not a warrior - to do something.

'Master, why-'

'Hush, lad, and come with me.'

He strode out of the door and into the centre of the village, and I ran to keep up with him, now truly scared. Why weren't we leaving the village to hide in the woods? There was no way the villagers would be able to defend themselves. It wouldn't be long before the bandits were here, and- but at that moment, Aneirin drew me in front of himself, my back to his chest, hands on my shoulders.

' _Ic bené gesweorc_ ,' he spoke calmly and clearly.

A power shuddered down my spine and I now understood why the elder had come to my master. His hands remained on my shoulders and I felt the air suddenly grow chill as a mist began to gather swiftly and spread throughout the village.

'The mist will fill the vale,' said Aneirin to the assembled villagers, 'but sound will travel more clearly in it. We must keep absolutely silent.'

* * *

In the end, the bandits never came to the village. Some of the villagers, sent out as scouts, reported that the men had opted to skirt the lip of the valley on seeing that it was not safe to travel and that they themselves could easily become targets of an ambush. They travelled north and left Brynna untroubled.

Sitting in a quiet corner of the tavern that night, I decided to broach the question that had been on my mind since the afternoon.

'Master.'

Aneirin looked at me.

'This afternoon, in the village square, when you summoned the mist, I _felt_ it. I mean, I _felt_ the power go out of you. Is that… _normal_?'

He smiled. 'What you felt was not my power,' he replied.

'What was it, then?'

'Yours.'

I sat in stunned silence. _Mine_?

'Mouth,' he said gently.

'What?'

'Your mouth. It's hanging open.'

'Oh.' I shut it abruptly. Then I opened it. 'You mean I can do _magic_?'

'No. Magical ability inheres in everyone, to some extent, but no one is able to actually use magic without being taught. That includes you. But some people find it easier to use, have more of a natural affinity for it.'

'And I have that aff-in-ity?'

'Affinity. Yes. You have a certain sort of closeness to magic, a way of thinking and feeling, that means that it would come more easily to you.'

'How did you know?'

'I wasn't certain until now, but I have kept an eye on you ever since your mother gave birth to you. There had been always been something about you that made the power in me respond. Now that I know, I also know what the nature of your apprenticeship will be.'

I looked at him inquiringly.

'Had you shown no such affinity, I would simply have taught you the healing skills. You have already shown yourself able in the few months that you have been with me, and if you apply yourself, then you will become an accomplished healer in your own right. But it seems to me that we should also include some education in matters of magic.'

I could barely believe my ears.

* * *

When my apprenticeship was over, I had returned to Underwood, there to marry Iseult, the girl I had shyly watched whenever we had visited. We were happy. As Aneirin had predicted, I became a skilled healer, but magic came to me less easily than I had hoped. I could not master the weather manipulation spells he had tried to teach me, nor the spells that moved larger objects. Still, healing spells came to me more naturally and I was content with that, for it gave me pleasure to improve another's life. I chose to stay in the village, travelling only if a summons came to me, and divided the time given to me between farming and the healer's art.

I worried, on my return, that my parents would feel let down. They had known that Aneirin saw magical ability in me. Perhaps they had hoped that I would be capable of more. Perhaps I should have applied myself more. Yet if they did feel let down, they didn't show it, and I remember clearly how, on the day my mother died, my father held me tight and told me that I had been her pride and joy, and that I would remain his for so long as he lived. If that alone had been his legacy to me, my son would have plenty to be grateful for, for I felt the same towards him.

* * *

I walked through the village towards my home and quietly let myself in. Iseult lay on her side in the bed in the corner, curled into herself a little. I pulled up a chair and sat next to her, watching her face and the gentle rise and fall of her shoulders under the blanket.

'Iseult,' I said quietly and brushed over her soft brown hair. She stirred and slowly opened her eyes. Her mouth broke into a smile - the same beautiful smile that captivated me every time I saw it.

'You're back,' she breathed, eyes shining. Then, 'You've been gone all night?'

I nodded. 'And I have to go again.'

'Why? You said the illness didn't sound bad when they came to get you.'

I swallowed. 'It wasn't.'

'But?'

'Iseult…'

She sat up sharply. 'Something's wrong.' She had always been able to read me. 'What is it?'

'There was a patrol in the tavern at the village.'

'No,' she whispered. 'You didn't-'

'No, I didn't,' I replied quickly. 'But I think someone told them that there's a healer in the next village along and that he sometimes uses… unconventional means.'

' _Why_?' she cried out. 'Why would anyone do that? Uther's been hell-bent on weeding out every trace of anyone with even a hint of magic this last year. They know that in Warren as well as anyone! Do they _want_ to lose their healer?'

'Hush,' I said, looking over to the cot where little Drustan lay. 'I don't know why. Perhaps someone had had too much to drink. Anyway, it's not safe here for me, and so long as I'm here, it's not safe for you, either.'

'Where will you go?'

'It wasn't a large patrol. I shouldn't have to go far. If all goes well, I'll only need to keep out of their way for a few days - you know that the law is enforced less rigorously near the border. But if they ask you where I am, tell them that I've gone to Fairbourne. It's close enough that it might seem reasonable that I would go, but far enough away to put them off following me. I'll come back as soon as I'm able.'

Iseult looked at me unhappily, but she knew what Uther's men would do to me if they found me. I kissed her slowly, savouring the moment as she wrapped her arms around my neck.

'I love you more than I understand,' I whispered, leaning into her.

'I love you, too,' she whispered back. 'Don't be gone for long. I need you.'

'I couldn't live without you. I'll be back soon.'

We both rose, and I walked over to Drustan's cot, kissing him on the forehead, before turning to the door. As I stepped outside, I looked back at Iseult. For the first time in my life, I was truly frightened of the future. I tried to smile as I waved to her.

I don't think she was any more persuaded than I was.

* * *

'Really, what's the point? He's just a healer. We don't even know that he has magic for sure. And even if he does, so what? No one has a bad word to say about the man.'

'Listen. I've had it made clear to me, in no uncertain terms, that if word gets back to the king that there have been reports of sorcerers which weren't properly followed up, he wants to meet the people responsible. In these parts, that's me, first and foremost. I'm not interested in meeting his majesty under those circumstances. We're finding this man.'

'But we're going to have to go all the way to wretched _Fairbourne_ to find him. That's three days' travel. It'll be a waste of time.'

'Easy for you to say. Your neck isn't on the line. We're going after him.'

I had heard enough, and quietly crept away from the patrol. So much for my hope that they would leave us in peace. When I saw them strike north after speaking with Iseult and some of the other villagers, I knew that something was wrong. Now I knew what. Uther's persecution of magic-users had begun about a year ago. Rumour had it that hundreds had been brought in for questioning around Camelot, and that many had not been heard from since, but rumour was an unreliable source at the best of times. Now I began to suspect that there might be truth in it, however. The soldiers who formed the patrol were battle-hardened men, but they took little interest in local affairs, being more concerned with securing the borders. For them to be willing to spend three days travelling to find me spoke of a quite serious change in priorities.

I found myself in a dilemma. When they got to Fairbourne, they'd discover not only that I wasn't there, but that no one there had sent for me - and that would send the soldiers straight back to Iseult. I had been lucky, on reflection, that they hadn't simply chosen to wait for me to come home. The only option I could see was to get ahead of them, pass through Fairbourne so that they didn't accuse Iseult of lying to them and then move on from there and try to keep them following me as I led them away from home. Perhaps, in the end, they'd give up.

* * *

The plan had started off well enough. While the patrol slept, I pushed on ahead, and made it to Fairbourne the best part of a day before them. Even as I arrived, an old lady, her gait speaking of her rheumatism, came shuffling up to me and clasped my arm.

'Oh - oh, I never thought you'd get here so quickly! We only sent word yesterday!'

'I was coming here anyway. Why, Enid, what's the matter?'

'It's Cynan. He's- fallen ill.' Her voice caught as she continued, 'He can't speak or move.'

I followed old Enid into the hut that she and her husband Cynan called home. The old man lay in the bed, staring straight up at the ceiling.

'Cynan?' I asked softly. The old man's mouth opened a fraction, but I received only a quiet gasp in reply. As I approached him, I could see that his body was trembling all over and covered in sweat, and the heat was fairly radiating off him.

'Do you- do you know what's wrong with him?'

'Not yet. First thing is to get him cooled down.' I glanced around the room and spied a bucket standing in the corner. 'I'll get some water from the well. Can you find some cloths to wash him with, please?'

As I ran out to the well, I caught sight of the neighbours' son.

'Nudd!' The young boy in question spun around, his face lighting up in a grin when he saw me. 'I need your help!' He nodded and ran after me into the hut. As Enid took the water and began to wash Cynan, I turned to Nudd.

'I need you to go into the woods and gather some skullcap for me. You remember what that looks like?'

'Purple flower?'

'That's the one. Bring me a couple of hands full. On your way back, ask your mother to brew a tea with it as quickly as possible, and then bring it back to Enid here for her to give to Cynan. You'll have to run.'

Nudd disappeared out of the door, and I sat down next to Cynan and gently laid my hands on his chest. His spirit was barely present. I closed my eyes.

' _Ic æfterfolge_ ,' I whispered, and found myself in darkness.

* * *

I stood in a dark, grey land, the sky above as grey as the dead stone beneath my feet. Turning, I saw no break in the landscape: all was flat, dull, lifeless, stretching off into the distance as far as the eye could see.

' _Ætíeþ Cynan_!' I commanded, and a pale light was suddenly revealed some way off from me and moving away from me quickly. I set off after it, running as fast as I could. I soon saw that the light was in the shape of a man, but the limbs didn't move; rather, the light floated barely above the surface of the ground.

'Cynan!' I cried out, but the light continued to move. ' _Gede_!' The light slowed, and turned to face me.

'Cynan,' I spoke softly. 'Where are you going?'

'Home,' a voice replied.

'Will you not return with me?'

The form shifted. Its shape was unstable, as if the light was perpetually flowing downwards through some hole that had been cut into the air, its hue varying subtly as it did so.

'My time has come. It is right that I go now.' I recognized Cynan's voice, yet it was strangely different, sharper in tone than I recalled.

'And yet I perceive that the choice has been given to you, for else I would not have been able to call you to a halt. So I ask you again, will you not return with me?'

'For what? What has your world to offer me? You are young. You do not understand the longing of the soul for its true home. Not yet. But your time will come. You will know what it is to be weary, to long for your soul's release and to rejoice at the prospect. You would not ask what you ask of me if you knew that already.'

'Maybe. Yet I understand the love that a man has for his wife.'

The light continued to flow.

'Enid waits for you. Even now, she tends to your body, hoping against hope that you will return. Will you not return with me?'

Slowly, the light moved towards me; then it enveloped me, and all went white.

* * *

When I awoke, I found myself on the floor, a pillow under my head. From somewhere towards my feet came the sound of someone stirring something, and the smell of stew wafted through the little hut. I sat up slowly.

'You're awake!' Enid smiled.

'Cynan?' I asked.

'Calmed down some time after you… did whatever you did. He's asleep now, but breathing normally. You've given him back to me.'

'No,' I said. 'He loves you. He came back for you.'

I stood up and opened the door. The sun was setting outside. I must have been out for most of the day - time I could ill afford to lose.

'Enid, I would love to stay, but I must leave. I have others I must see to, in- in Efailwen.'

'But that's days from here, all the way out by Meredor. You must be tired. Won't you at least eat? And you're welcome to stay the night, though we have little to offer by way of a bed. But Eva next door-'

'Thank you, Enid, but I must go, now. I've already been here longer than I intended, and it's urgent.'

Without waiting to hear her reply, I stepped outside and saw the torches of the approaching soldiers. I ran.

* * *

I ran straight into the woods as a cry behind me told me that I had been seen. My only thought was to keep ahead of them until the fading twilight gave way to full darkness and safety. As I dodged between the trees, I headed straight for where I thought the setting sun lay, knowing that a path ran parallel to the the line I had chosen some way off to my right. If the soldiers didn't know about it, then I might be able to find the path later and make some headway that night.

There followed two nights and days of a waking nightmare. I knew little of how to conceal my trail, and every time I thought I had lost them, the soldiers soon made their presence known. What hopes I had of gaining a head start over them on the first night were soon dashed: they knew the woods and did not settle down for the night as I had expected. Instead, even as I made my way step by painfully slow step through briars, mud, thickets of thorn bushes and the outliers of a forest bog, some of the soldiers hounded west along the path while the others followed behind me.

So it was that on the second day, clothes sodden and torn, body bruised and bleeding, I stumbled towards the edge of the woods and the grasslands of Meredor - and barely caught myself as I saw them waiting there for me. I had a blinding headache and dark spots danced before me, obscuring my vision. I had run out of water on the second night. I sank to my knees and all but gave up when I saw them standing there on the plain, and I would not have continued for my own sake. All that drove me now was the thought that I could not leave Iseult and Drustan alone in the world.

Skirting along the edge of the woods, trying to keep out of sight, I found a little grassy hollow bathed in sunlight. Suddenly a bird sang out, a happy, carefree sound, and I stopped, glancing up. To one side of the hollow stood a great birch tree, and in it sat a song thrush. Even as I watched, he opened his beak and the same joyful song trilled out, answered from across the other side of the hollow by his companion. It was strange, this place. It was almost as if it held in itself the promise of peace.

It was then that I saw the entrance to the tunnel.

My mother had told me stories about the tunnels of Meredor when I was a little boy: the great, endless labyrinths below the ground, haunted by those who had been foolish enough to enter them and had never found their way out. Told on a dark night, those stories had power, but their hold melted in the bright sunlight. Besides, with soldiers behind and in front of me, it was only a matter of time before I was caught and so I thrust any lingering misgivings aside, crossed the little dell and stepped into the darkness.

It was cool inside, and as I took a few steps down the tunnel I could hear the sound of running water; an underground river, perhaps? Groping along the walls and following the sound, I soon found the source. A small stream crossed the floor of the tunnel in front of me, and I crouched down on my knees and put my hand in it. The water was cool, and I plunged my head into it. Oh, the bliss! As I pulled my head out, I couldn't help but laugh out loud. I drank, slowly but deeply, and felt my body respond with a giddy delight. This was better than any wine I had ever drunk, and I had to force myself to remember that danger was not far behind. I quickly filled up my water skin and stood up.

' _Léoht_ ,' I whispered and a small light grew in my hand as I walked briskly down the passageway.

* * *

I don't know how far I had walked. It felt as if it had been miles. Perhaps it had. Occasionally I heard distant voices from somewhere behind me, but I tried not to worry too much. After all, it was always likely that I would be followed, and my hope now lay in losing them down here. Eventually I emerged into a large cavern, and following the wall around to the right, found another tunnel. My mother's warnings sprang back into my mind unbidden, but I reasoned that I could simply take every first right turn I came across, which should allow me to find my way back out. All I would need to do then would be to wait until the soldiers gave up.

As I stepped into the new tunnel, I shivered. There was something about this place - something I couldn't quite put my finger on. A draught had accompanied me ever since I had set foot in the tunnels, but the air here was still and dry. It felt heavy, like the air under a warm, thick blanket - and ancient, as if it had sat here unmoved for centuries. Without intending to, I found that I had stopped walking. I stood and listened. Not a sound. Nothing. I took a couple of steps forward and faltered. Even my footsteps sound muffled.

A tiny flicker from the light in the palm of my hand grabbed my attention. The little werelight briefly shrank and then sprang back to size, as if blown by a wind in this windless place. Strange. And it illuminated so little. My hand and forearm were bathed in its gentle glow, but the walls - I reached out to touch them - reflected nothing at all until the light was right next to them. It was as if the very darkness itself was denser here.

Then, at the very edge of my hearing, the softest susurration. I tensed, listening as hard as I could. It was almost as if- no, it had gone again. I shook my head. My mother's stories must have had more of a hold on me than I'd realized. It had sounded, for just the briefest fraction of time, as if someone was _whispering_. But there was no one but me here.

I took two steps forward, and halted. There it was again. As I stood, straining to hear, a dread began to creep up my spine.

'Who's there?' I cried out, spinning around with my hand held before me, but there was no one.

I had no sooner made up my mind that I needed to get out of this tunnel and back into the cavern than the soft whispering returned. It was now undeniable. There was someone or something in the tunnel with me.

I took a few steps - five, ten. How far could it be? I had only just entered. Fifteen. The whispering became louder and more urgent. It seemed to be coming from somewhere below me. But that made no sense - the ground was solid rock.

Twenty steps. A man's voice. And then, as suddenly as the first whispers had come, they were joined by tens - no, hundreds of voices, rising up from the ground, swirling all around me, hissing in my ears. I broke into a run. I didn't care if the soldiers were waiting for me. I couldn't, I wouldn't stay in this place. Uther could only kill my body. These voices - they felt as if they could take hold of my soul.

'Listen,' they hissed. 'Listen.'

The light in my hand flickered and dimmed.

' _Léoht!_ ' I cried out, and poured all my power into the little werelight. It leapt up again and the voices hissed and pulled back from me. At the edge of the light I suddenly beheld the movement of dark shapes - shadows without substance in the shape of men who could not penetrate the little circle of light. On I ran, the voices still all around me but their whispers now indistinct, held back by the light. My heart was pounding. I didn't know where I was going. The tunnel no longer led out to the cavern. All I knew was that if I didn't get out now, I never would.

Ahead of me I saw a blue-ish light. Whether it was a good sign or not I didn't know, but it didn't matter. The dread of the voices and what they might do to me now filled all my being, and I ran on. Even as I approached the light, the whispering around me mercifully died away. I was safe.

* * *

I stepped out of the tunnel into another world. The all-consuming darkness gave way as a gentle blue light washed over me, to be broken and thrown back endlessly by a thousand million crystal facets. The light leapt up, up, and I saw a great vaulted ceiling high above me. Impossibly tall columns strode down the sides of the great hall, their capitals ornately decorated with carved leaves, their shafts intricately fashioned.

I stared in awe. Never had I beheld such beauty. Everything in the hall had been hewn out of living crystal. As my eyes followed the march of the columns, it was drawn to the far end of the hall - and there I beheld a mighty throne upon a dais. The back of the throne rose ten feet high and its arms had been so cunningly made that as the light flowed down them, they looked as if they were made of running water. Graven into the back of the throne was a great crown whose arches resembled nothing so much as mountain peaks.

As I slowly stepped forward, I saw that the carvings on the columns depicted all manner of scenes. In one, a man overthrew a great bear. In another, he wrestled with a star. In still another, he led a great multitude into a city. I realized that the man was the same one in all the carvings, for he always wore the great mountain-crown. I was in the court of a king.

Then, the king spoke.

* * *

'So, little sorcerer. You have entered my domain, uninvited and unlooked for. And do you think that you shall escape it? You assuredly shall not.'

Every word was like the the slamming down of a great hammer upon the anvil of my mind. It struck me to the core, and I fought to maintain consciousness.

'You have defied my servants, but do not imagine that your little light will provide you with defence against me.'

Even as he spoke the words, I felt what small strength remained drain from me and the little werelight vanished as I fell to my knees, clutching my head, willing the voice to stop.

'Here you shall stay, and you shall listen to my tale, as have all who have come before you. And I shall claim your little power for my own, and add it to mine, and you too shall serve me.'

'No,' I whispered, and the king laughed - a dreadful sound that echoed around my mind.

'You are _mine_. Your power, your heart, your mind.'

Remembering Aneirin's teachings, I retreated into myself and threw all my strength into protecting the walls of my mind just as a power began to batter against them. I cut myself off from my surroundings. Desperate to block out the king's voice which seemed to sap the energy from me, I tried to think of something, anything else.

Then suddenly I saw her in my mind's eye. Iseult. Oh, Iseult. My heart grew strong as I thought of her. Her smile, more beautiful, more life-giving than any other. Her eyes which carried such wisdom and a tenderness that I had hidden myself in so often. I gave myself over to dwelling upon her, and the memories of a life shared. As I did so, I felt the strength in me rise and the power that raged against me seemed to lose its ferocity. I breathed deeply, and my heart calmed. I opened my eyes and stood.

'You shall not have me,' I declared.

But the king laughed again.

'I see your thoughts,' he said. 'Do you really think that you can escape from this place, even if you will not succumb? The tunnels are under my command, and they will not yield to let you out. And then what will your precious Iseult do? Do you truly believe that she will wait for you forever? She has a son. What woman will wait when the absence of a husband leaves her without the law and fair game for all? What woman will not seek to protect her son? What woman will raise her son without a father? Fool. She will not wait for you. Even now she turns to another.'

And in my mind's eye, though I did not want to believe a word I heard, I suddenly beheld Iseult in the arms of another man, smiling contentedly. 'No!' I cried out. 'No, Iseult!' But the image would not leave me, and my heart was torn in two, and the will to fight left me. 'No!'

'Now,' spoke the king. 'You will listen.'

Everything went black.

* * *

 _Ic bené gesweorc_ \- I summon the mist  
 _Ic æfterfolge_ \- I follow  
 _Ætíeþ Cynan_ \- Reveal Cynan  
 _Gede_ \- Halt  
 _Léoht_ \- Light


	5. Another's Realm

**Author's** **note**  
Thank you once again to all of you who've reviewed and/or are following this story; you're very encouraging. Thank you also for being patient with the previous chapter dropping you into the complete unknown! This one should help clarify things (and when the next chapter comes along, I think it'll be much clearer what's going on in that one, too).

* * *

 **Chapter Five: Another's Realm**  
Merlin stood outside the stone doorway and bit his lip. Why did Arthur always have to do this? Why would he _never_ listen? Why would he never let himself be protected? Frustration and fear rose up in him in equal measure. How could he protect his king if his king insisted on constantly putting his life at risk?

'Oh, bother you, Arthur!' he muttered and stepped across the threshold.

Immediately, the darkness whirled around him and he felt sick as he fell to his hands and knees and his body refused momentarily to move at anything greater than a snail's pace. His torch had gone out. His head swam and the thick darkness sat on him like a blanket, smothering him. Swallowing, he slowly stood up, every movement a deliberate effort.

'Arthur?' he called out weakly.

Silence met his call.

'Arthur?'

Still there was no response.

Louder this time, 'Arthur! Gwaine!'

There! A voice, faint, but definitely a voice. It seemed to be coming closer.

'It's Merlin! I'm here!' he called - and was suddenly enveloped in a flurry of voices, surrounding him, pulling on his consciousness, whispering, always whispering, now so close that his ears were filled with their words. First one voice then the next would break through the noise of the others to grab his attention.

'-walked the path-'

'I was a warrior before-'

'-in two places, whether it was-'

'-but she wouldn't, so-'

Merlin stumbled backwards under the onslaught of the voices, but they kept pace with him, whispering urgently.

'Three miles, as the crow files-'

'-sent by the King to discover-'

'I ran as hard as I could but-'

He beheld a rolling green landscape, stood before a king in his mighty hall being instructed, ran, ran, fearful for his life - a dizzying barrage of images flashed before his mind's eye and a flurry of emotions raced through his heart.

'Stop, please stop!' Merlin cried out as the whispers seemed to bore into his head, fighting to tell him their story.

'He left me behind.'

Utter desolation flooded through him as a sense of betrayal and loneliness beyond bearing dug its claws into his soul. Merlin clamped his hands over his ears, but it made no difference. They were _inside_ him now, desperately telling their story, trying to get him to listen, and something told him that if he did, he would be lost. Small fragments kept breaking through and he could barely think. And all the while the dark pressed in on him, hemming him in on every side, constricting, squeezing, strangling, until-

' _L_ _é_ _oht_ _!_ ' he yelled in desperation, flinging his arms wide and putting his power into the spell, heedless of whether any of the knights were nearby, recking nothing of what they might do to him if they saw, all his thought bent now only on breaking the darkness so that he might at least see the whisperers, find a way to counter them. Immediately, a brilliant, crystalline white light, brighter than sunlight, sprang forth from him, enveloping him, spreading wide, burning away the darkness mercilessly, and the voices were ripped out of him and flung back, hissing and spitting. Panting, Merlin looked up and saw that the light did not spread, being contained only within a globe at whose heart he stood, the light flowing and its hues shifting subtly about five feet in every direction around him but illuminating nothing beyond it. He knew now, if he had not already known, that the darkness was no ordinary darkness. Then, with a start, he saw them.

At the very edge of the globe of light, not daring to to break the barrier and come fully into the brightness, they stood: shadowy figures in the shape of men, jostling as they tried to get to him, always whispering. Merlin noticed then that the shadows had eyes, and his fear was tinged with horror and pity as he realized that every one of those eyes held nothing but despair and hopelessness.

'Who- who are you?' Merlin asked hesitantly, but the shadows only whispered all the more desperately. 'Please, what do you want from me?' But if they were capable of giving any other answer than the one they already gave, they showed no sign of it. Then, without warning, they fell back, disappearing into the darkness beyond, and an ominous silence descended. A lone figure, tall and proud in bearing but eyes mournful, stepped into the edge of the light.

Merlin watched the figure warily.

'Who are you?' he asked again.

The reply came quietly but clearly, and as if from the dead. 'I have no name in this place. I am but a servant.'

'And the others?'

'This realm is made up of many, but we are all servants in the service of the Dark King, in whose domain you now stand. Some are greater than I. Many are lesser.'

'Who is- the Dark King?'

'That is not for me to tell, but for him alone. It is enough to know that he is, and that he is every man's destiny who enters his realm.'

'Why did you all- do whatever you did to me earlier on?'

'It is our master's bidding and his glory that we should tell our stories, for that is what they are: _our_ stories. Power is given to us to do so. Wherever we came from, whoever we were, whatever our station, our powers, our capacities, we all became alike in this: that when we set foot here we became solely his. It brings him greater glory that all should tell their individual stories ending with him than that all should tell his. Thus is the extent of his strength and lordship shown. To some is given greater authority than to others for the same reason, so that the others must fall still when we speak and we are not bound only to the telling of our stories. We are the ones who had greater power in the world of men and so his glory is seen all the more keenly in our servanthood. And now, speak, for my master demands it. Who are you?'

'I'm- I'm Merlin,' said Merlin.

'I do not know the name.'

'No, you wouldn't, I'm… just a servant.'

'Who is your master, that he commands such as you?'

'He's…' Merlin's voice trailed off as the gravity of the truth struck him: that he and his power should be servant to another spoke of the magnitude of who Arthur was, of who he had been chosen to be. In the end, Arthur was not merely Arthur. 'He's the Once and Future King,' he said quietly. 'It's my destiny to serve him.'

At this, a great sighing went up from all around, and the figure before him darkened.

'Do not speak of the glory of another,' he said sharply. 'There is no other king in this place.'

'But-'

Even as Merlin started to object, everything in him screamed at him to shut up before it was too late and the shadows found Arthur before Merlin did. There was no telling what they might do if they knew who he was.

'No. No, of course there isn't,' he stuttered.

But the figure before him understood all too clearly and grew darker still, a man-shaped hole in the light, and he became immense in stature, now looming menacingly tall, towering over Merlin.

'Do not think to deceive me. There is only one destiny in this place,' he said, and his voice grew louder, 'and only one king, and they are one and the same. You and your little king shall come to him, and you shall be nothing before him, and you shall serve him.' With those words, the figure extended an arm, reaching out, his intent to grab hold of Merlin and to drag him before his master all too clear.

'I serve only one king,' said Merlin quietly, grimly, 'and I will not serve yours.' At this, he poured his power into the light around him so that it burned all the more brightly, and the servant fell back, hissing. As the light advanced, his opponent fled and the tunnel was wholly silent. Merlin stood and watched for some minutes, the brilliance burning away the night, but there was no sign of the servant's return. He lit his torch with a word and slowly, very slowly let the light die back down until there was only flickering torchlight.

As the light receded, he saw once again shadows moving at its very edge, and heard their whispers, but they did not come any closer. They had learnt their lesson.

* * *

It was the scream that sent Merlin running. The weight of the darkness had lifted since his encounter with the servant and the retreat of the shadows, and it no longer sat on him, constricting his mind and his lungs, but now a different kind of fear gnawed at his insides. Where were the others? The servant's threat, though not fulfilled in his case, was plain enough, and Merlin had barely gone a few steps before he realized that if the Dark King found Arthur before he did, then that might be the end. No Once and Future King. No Albion. No Arthur.

He strode forward, determined to find the others. He did not dwell overly long on the fact that if it came to it, his only means of protecting them was by overt magic, unhidden and unhideable, bright in the darkness, undeniable before his friends. It might be that this would be his undoing, but he had chosen Arthur long ago, at his life's expense if it came to that.  
 _I_ _'_ _m happy to be your servant,_ _'_ _til the day I die._

He had spent what felt like half an hour wandering the tunnels, though in truth it could have been any length of time, trying to find the others and a way out. The wretched whispering never ceased, though the shadows still came no closer and Merlin was no longer afraid of them. As he came to a junction between three tunnels he stopped. On the one hand, it would not do to keep walking around aimlessly, with no way of keeping track of where he had been and no way of making sure that he could get back. On the other, since he didn't know where he had started out from or where the others were, it probably didn't make much of a difference whether he could get back or not.

He was just coming to the conclusion that he should probably at least mark the wall by the tunnel he chose when a sharp scream cut through the darkness and sent Merlin running down the right-hand tunnel towards it.

'Oh, please,' he thought, 'let it not be Arthur.' No sooner had the thought come than he rebuked himself: what did it matter which of them it was? The scream came again, the agony of a man in dreadful fear.

'No! No! Let me be! Let me-' The words were cut short by silence, and then another agonized yell. 'Please! Get away from me! I can't- no, don't-'

It was Gwaine's voice. Merlin had never heard Gwaine beg, not like this. The desperation in his words was heart-rending. As he rounded a corner, Merlin found Gwaine sprawled on the ground, dark figures bent over him, whispering, clutching at his head, passing _in and out_ of him as they tore at each other in a frenzy to get to the man.

'Back! Get back!' Merlin yelled, running up and waving his torch over Gwaine. The shadows leapt back instantly, fear fearful of the light, their previous encounter with the warlock not forgotten, and their whispering was suddenly again relegated to the periphery of hearing.

'Gwaine?' said Merlin. The man in question turned on his side, moaned and made a strange sound. Merlin realized with a start that the knight was weeping.

'I can't- I can't take any more, please, please go away.'

'Gwaine, it's Merlin. You're safe now.' Merlin put his torch on the ground, sat down next to the knight, and gently laid a hand on his head. 'They've gone. It's just you and me. You're safe.'

As he murmured these soft reassurances, the knight grew quiet and his breathing evened out. After a while Merlin helped him into a sitting position, placing one arm across his shoulder comfortingly. Gwaine sat hunched over, arms pinched narrowly before him, still breathing deeply, unseeing eyes flicking to and fro. Long minutes went by before he spoke.

'Where- where am I?'

'In the tunnels at Meredor.'

His mouth moved wordlessly.

'Gwaine,' said Merlin, 'do you know who I am?'

The knight looked at him and blinked repeatedly.

'M- Mer-' he tried, screwing his face up. Then, with a huge effort, 'Merlin.'

'Good,' said Merlin. 'You need to listen to me. All the things you saw - they weren't real. It wasn't _you_. It was people telling you their stories.'

Gwaine looked at him uncertainly, obviously struggling to make sense of what he was hearing.

'But- I was _there_ ,' he began slowly.

'No,' said Merlin gently. 'They showed you what they saw.'

Gwaine looked troubled and opened his mouth, but Merlin spoke first.

'Do you remember the Perilous Lands? You've been there.'

The knight frowned, trying hard to recall, then nodded.

'Do you remember our quest? Well, Arthur's quest, but-'

'The trident.'

'Yes. The Fisher King's trident. We helped Arthur find it.' Merlin grinned. 'He _was_ cross when we turned up.'

'Never got a word of thanks,' smiled Gwaine wanly.

'That's the one,' said Merlin, glad that his friend's true memories were returning. 'We're here with him, remember? On some stupid mission for gold we don't need.'

Again, neither of them spoke for a while, and their breathing and the distant whispers were the only sound. Then Gwaine's shoulders started to shake.

'I remember now. Merlin, there were- I've never- there were all the voices and they-'

'Hush, Gwaine. It's okay. I know what happened.'

'I just couldn't-'

'I know. You don't have to explain.'

They stopped speaking again, until Gwaine finally began to move and the two got to their feet. The knight looked at the servant.

'Merlin,' he said slowly, 'I don't know what you did, but if you hadn't come, I- I don't think I'd be alive. I never thought that anything could make me that desperate. They- they _invaded_ me, somehow, they were inside me, they made me see things and feel things, and every few seconds I'd see and feel something else until I didn't know who I was, or where or what, and every new flash of an image hurt so _much_ and…' His voice cracked.

'You don't need to tell me, Gwaine. They came for me, too.'

'How did you escape them?'

'I- I don't know, really. I just sort of- I don't think they like light. They're shadows, creatures of darkness. I waved my torch at them, like when I found you, and they disappeared.' It wasn't quite a lie. Well, alright, it was a lie, but at least it wouldn't make Gwaine suspicious.

'My torch went out when- when the darkness came, and it wasn't long before _they_ found me. You were lucky that yours stayed alight.'

Merlin made a vague affirmatory noise, and then said, 'Come on, we need to find the others. Grab your torch and we can light it from mine.'

'Wait.'

Merlin stopped and looked at Gwaine, who looked at him seriously.

'Thank you. Not just for chasing them away. Thank you.'

Merlin grinned. 'Any time, Gwaine. Gladly.'

* * *

'Percival!'

They found the big knight on his hands and knees on the floor, gasping and sobbing.

'Iseult!' he cried out. 'No! Don't leave me! Don't go with him! Don't-'

'What's wrong with him, Merlin?' yelled Gwaine.

'Look!' cried Merlin, pointing. 'One of the shadow creatures, by his head. He's caught in a vision. Quickly! The light seems to break their spell!'

The two men lurched at the creature by Percival's head, and it fell back rasping and, as the others before, it fled. Percival choked, his chest heaving as he fought to breathe.

'Percival,' said Gwaine softly. 'Come on, big man. Wake up. It's gone.'

'It's- he's in my head. And she's _gone._ ' Pain etched his every word.

'Easy now, Percy. It's just us.

'I'll leave you to it,' said Merlin to Gwaine quietly. 'He needs you right now. You're closer to him than I am. Less embarrassing for him if he can't see that I'm watching.'

Merlin stepped away a little, leaving his torch by the two men where he could still see it, but deliberately not listening to the quiet words exchanged by the two, deliberately ignoring the sniffs and coughs and the weakness of a man still on the verge of breaking down.

When sometime later it became plain that Percival was feeling better, Merlin returned and found the two men sitting in silence, leaning against the wall of the tunnel.

'We can't stay here,' he said. 'There's still Elyan and Arthur to find.'

'I don't want to go,' whispered Percival. 'I've seen him. I know what he'll do.'

'Seen whom?'

'The Dark King. He- he was in my head.'

'In your _head_?' asked Merlin, startled.

Percival nodded, swallowed, and continued, 'I was a- a-'

He cringed. Merlin and Gwaine exchanged glances. They had never seen Percival like this.

'A what, Percy?' asked Gwaine.

The knight looked at the other two men, indecision and uncertainty written all over his face as if he was fighting some inner battle. Then, mind made up, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and blew out slowly before opening his eyes again.

'Back in Trellech, where I grew up,' he began hesitantly, 'I was always warned of the dangers of- magic. We knew that Uther was on the hunt for sorcerers because of what they had done to this kingdom and because of what they could still do. When I became a knight, I swore to obey my prince. I believed in Arthur. I swore to follow him with my _heart_ , not just my deeds. I still believe in him and I won't undermine his rule, do you understand?' The last few words were spoken sharply, taking Gwaine and Merlin by surprise. They nodded.

Percival fell silent.

'I was a- I was a sorcerer,' he finally said in a small voice. 'I had _magic_. I serve Camelot and I had magic.'

'It wasn't you,' said Gwaine softly. 'It was just-'

'No, you don't understand, Gwaine!' exclaimed Percival. 'It doesn't matter that it wasn't me. The point is- look, I had had magic for years and years and- and looking at that man now, I just can't condemn him. I can't. I wasn't trying to harm anyone. I wasn't plotting anything, I wasn't trying to overthrow the kingdom. I was a _healer_. I just wanted to be there for my wife and my child, and U- Uther's men were,' he swallowed, 'trying to kill me, just because of what I could do. I fled here, to these tunnels, and I found _him_. He- he _broke_ me. I don't want-'

'Percival,' Merlin interrupted gently, 'I know this is important, but we can't stay here. The others are no safer than you were. I don't want the Dark King to get to them first. We need to find them.'

The knight slowly nodded, and Gwaine helped him to his feet.

'Come on, big man. We've a king to save.'

* * *

As they walked, Gwaine suddenly spoke.

'Merlin, when we found Percy, you said you saw a shadow at his head.'

Merlin looked at Gwaine in surprise. 'Yes, why, didn't you?'

'No. I couldn't see anything. I just followed your lead and waved my torch about where you said to.'

'Oh. Well, perhaps it's because there was just one, so it was harder to see.'

'Yeah, that was strange, too. You said there were lots of them attacking me?'

'Yes. They were pulling and pushing each other out of the way, constantly moving. I think that's why you had lots of different visions. There was only one- shadow thing speaking to Percival, so if I'm right, that's why he was fully caught in its vision.'

What Merlin didn't mention was that he was pretty sure that he knew why there had been only one figure: one of the higher-ranking shadow-servants had got hold of Percival, but it didn't seem wise to tell the other two about his conversation with the servant. It would raise too many questions.

* * *

'There! It's Elyan!'

'They're all over him! Torches, now!' shouted Merlin. It didn't take long for the shadows to be dispersed, and while the two knights waited with Elyan, Merlin walked forward a little way. There was something strange about the tunnel they stood in - something about the way the light behaved. It seemed steadier, less flickery. He tossed his torch back in the direction of the others and stared into the darkness ahead. Sure enough, he could make out a hint of light.

'There's a light ahead,' he said eventually, as the others came up behind him, Elyan having picked up the discarded torch.

'Daylight?' asked Elyan.

'Not sure,' replied Merlin. 'Elyan, are you alright?'

'Yes. The- whatever-they-weres had only just found me when you came. It sounds like Gwaine and Percival had a worse time of it. But thank you, all three of you. I couldn't fight them.'

Percival slapped Elyan on the back. Nothing more needed to be said.

'I suppose we ought to head for that light,' said Merlin.

'What do you mean?' asked Gwaine.

'Well, it's just that if it _is_ daylight, then it's a way out, but…'

'Arthur.'

'Yes, Arthur.'

All four of them spoke at once.

'I don't want to ask you to-'

'There's no way that I'm leaving before-'

'I swore an oath-'

'He's my king and I won't-'

They looked at each other.

'That's settled, then,' said Gwaine with a grin. 'Come on. Let's see what this light is.'

* * *

They need not have worried, for it became clear quickly enough that it was not daylight that awaited them. They stepped into the great hall, all bathed in blue, and stopped in astonishment.

'This is- it's-' said Gwaine.

'Beautiful,' supplied Elyan.

'It's the throne room,' said Percival darkly, pointing to the great throne at the far end of the hall.

But Merlin only had eyes for a small bundle lying before the throne, and he pushed past the others and ran as hard as he could towards it, the darkness of the tunnels and the shadow-servant's threat now rising up inside his heart as fear took hold.

'No,' he breathed as he dropped to his knees. There before him lay Arthur on his side, back to the throne, knees drawn up as if he sought to protect himself, one arm extended across the ground, the other dangling uselessly across his front, his face deathly pale.

'Arthur?' said Merlin, a tremor creeping into his voice, but the king didn't move. 'Arthur! Come on, wake up, Arthur!' He shook his shoulder, but still he didn't move. Tears welled in Merlin's eyes as he shouted out in frustration. He grabbed at the king's wrist, feeling for a pulse, but his hands were shaking and he couldn't feel anything except cold skin.

'Come _on_!' he yelled, and gently slapped Arthur's face. 'Please, Arthur. Please, please, wake up. Please don't- don't-'

Gwaine, coming up behind him, gently put his hands under Merlin's arms and raised him up.

'No- Gwaine, no! I-'

'Let me take a look at him, mate. Okay? You're in no fit state.' He knelt down and laid two fingers across the king's wrist for a few seconds. 'There's a pulse. It's weak, but it's there. He's alive.' He stood up and turned to Merlin, taking him by the shoulders. 'He's alive, Merlin. He's not dead.'

Merlin just stared at him, eyes wide, tears running down his cheeks, then nodded.

'We need to get him out of here,' said Percival, bending down. 'I've seen this place. In the vision. We need to get out of here. It's where _he_ lives. Give me a hand, Elyan.' The other man knelt down and took Arthur's legs while Percival took his upper body.

'One, two, three,' counted Elyan, and the two men took a breath and lifted the king up - or so they intended.

'I can't shift him, not one bit,' said Percival, grunting with the exertion.

'Here, I'll lend you girls a hand,' said Gwaine, but part of him already knew he was wasting his time. Arthur hadn't budged an inch when the two knights had tried to lift him, and the additional help made no difference whatsoever. The king could not be moved.

'He's under a spell,' said Merlin abruptly. The others looked at him. 'It's obvious. He won't wake up, we can't move him. It's magic. Even I can move him a bit when he's in full armour.'

'What do we do?' asked Gwaine.

'I won't leave him!' said Merlin, his face drawn and haggard, arms hanging straight down by his sides.

'No one's asking you to leave him,' said Elyan gently. 'But he's cold. We've all still got some wood in our packs. Let's build a fire and try to get him warmed up. Perhaps he'll wake up then.'

No one could think of a better plan, so while Elyan set to building the fire, Gwaine and Percival explored the hall. Merlin sat by Arthur and watched him. He was numb with fear, now, and barely took any notice of the others.

Then the voice spoke.

'Welcome, Emrys.'

* * *

Startled, Merlin looked up, but there was no one near him - only Elyan and Arthur. The voice was speaking directly into his mind.

'Come, now. One such as you cannot be unused to this manner of speech.'

'Who are you?' he projected back. Elyan was still busy with the fire.

'You already know the answer to that question.'

'You are the Dark King.'

'I am.'

'What have you done to Arthur?'

'Have you not been told that all men who enter this realm will come to me, will become my subjects, and that I will not tolerate the glory of another? What then did you think would happen to one whom Destiny herself lauds as the Once and Future King? But do not fear. He is not dead.'

'Please, whatever you've done - let him go. Take me, but let him go.'

The King laughed, and it was a terrible sound, a mocking noise that spoke of Merlin's worthlessness in the sight of the King. 'Take you? Take you? And let him go? Or what? What could you hope to achieve?'

'I'll- co-operate with you if you let him go.'

'Co-operate?' The laughter grew louder and incredulity crept into it. 'Co-operate? We are not equals, you and I. I do not negotiate. I have no need of it. I take what I want. I know who you are, Emrys. I was born long before your king or his little kingdom. Unite the land of Albion? I have ruled here since the time when that land _was_ united, before petty lords broke the kingdom into little fiefdoms and in their blindness imagined themselves mighty. Destiny may have chosen you, Emrys, but my name was known long before she saw fit to put prophecies into the mouths of men about you. I have lived for many lifetimes of men, and grown in knowledge and in power, and rule here in absolute dominion. And you speak of _co-operation_?' The King sounded amused at the idea.

'What- what do you want with me?'

'Among my subjects are numbered some who were formerly of the _Derwyddon_. Indeed, I would not know your name otherwise. I know your power, Emrys, and I will claim it for my own. Then finally I will break the spell that is on the door, and I will emerge once more, and this time none will be able to withstand. I will make the world of men mine, and my name shall be known all throughout it. Do not imagine that Destiny will protect you. She is a cruel mistress, as you must already know, and fickle. She is as likely to abandon you as to keep you. Indeed, by allowing you into this place, she already _has_ abandoned you, for your king is in my power and it will not be long before you are, too.'

And with that, Merlin suddenly felt an excruciating pain stab into his mind, and he fell to the floor, writhing as he clutched at his temples.

'Do not imagine that you can withstand me, Emrys. None ever has.'

'I- will not- let you have- Arthur,' Merlin ground out even as blinding, white hot agony seared through him. Rolling on to his front, he covered his eyes with one hand and his mouth with another and shouted, ' _Á_ _feorse_!' The King howled in fury.

'I will break you, Emrys! I will break your will, your heart, and fear will take you, and you will beg for me to release you and take you into my service!'

The words left Merlin shuddering, but he felt the King's presence withdraw and he slowly opened his eyes and sat up, fresh tears welling up from the pain. Elyan looked around at the sound of the muffled shout.

'Merlin?'

'I'm sorry, Elyan,' he muttered, 'I- I-'

'It's okay. I know you two are close.'

Merlin looked at Arthur and nodded, grateful for the misunderstanding.

'Will you be alright?'

He nodded again.

* * *

'Any change?' asked Gwaine as the two knights approached. Elyan shook his head. 'I suppose that was too much to hope for. We haven't found anything. There's just the one tunnel in and out of this place, and the hall's nothing more than some columns and some walls and the throne. Pretty columns, and nice lighting, but that's it.'

The four men sat around the fire in glum silence.

* * *

 _L_ _é_ _oht_ \- Light  
 _Derwyddon_ \- Druids  
 _Á_ _feorse_ \- depart


	6. Another's Glory

**Author's note**  
Well, at the risk of trying your patience, this is another 'unknown character' chapter - but I promise there will be no more of them, and I think that by the end this, you'll know who he is and why his story matters.

* * *

 **Chapter Six: Another's Glory**  
The timbers of the ship creaked as she gently rose and fell with the waves. We had furled the sails as soon as we saw what awaited us and were now drifting in the current. I looked behind to the rest of the fleet, thirty vessels in all. Owain was running the flags up the mast, signalling to them to do as we had done, and the sails were already beginning to come down.

We had made good speed, blown all day by a stiff north-easterly wind that had brought us many leagues, the ships cutting through the choppy waters like a hot knife through butter. Above us, the gulls cried to one another happily in a clear blue sky and the sun beat down on the deck as I made my way forward to stand by the king's side. Ahead lay the great white cliffs of the land that was to be our new home, crowned with green. But it was not the landscape the king was looking at, but rather what stood on top of it.

'Nothing's ever easy, is it?' he sighed.

'No, indeed, my lord,' I replied, gazing at the enormous figures that stood astride the cliffs. They looked a lot like men, but what men! They were at least ten feet tall, fat and covered in reddish hair, clad in nothing but loincloths. One had just hurled a great boulder into the sea, a mere couple of furlongs short of where we now sat.

'Giants, eh?' said Ianus, coming up next to us. 'Ugly brutes. I don't remember the prophecy mentioning those.'

'It didn't,' replied the king. 'But we cannot go back to Gaul, and this is the land we were promised. I would sooner make anchor here than sail further north where I am told the tides are more tricky.' He turned to look at me.

I nodded and spoke quietly to the wind and the waves, ' _Fulfieldeen._ ' The wind that had made an otherwise pleasant day quite cold suddenly dropped, and the waves stilled until the sea was a glassy, blue-green surface. Looking over the side, a man might see almost a full six fathoms down as the currents stilled.

' _Hl_ _é_ _oðor á_ _hl_ _é_ _oð_ _re andgietfullic_!' I commanded - and the king spoke, and though he did not raise his voice, it travelled clearly across the waters and seemed to resound all around us.

'I am Bruta, son of Silvius, son of Ascanius, son of Aeneas of Troy, who by his might overthrew Turnus and took Italy for his own, of the line of Priam and Anachises. I am the liberator of the men of Troy who suffered in Greece and who now accompany me. I have slain the pirates of Zaree, withstood the Sirens at the Pillars of Hercules, defeated Goffar the Pict, sacked and slaughtered at will in Aquitaine. I am come now to this isle of Albion, ordained for us by Diana herself for our home - and will you now withstand me? Withdraw, and I will show you mercy even as I showed it to Pandrasus and his brother Antigonus, who were greater than you. But continue in your current course and none of you shall remain to tell the tale.'

We waited in silence. Then the giants roared, and picking up great rocks began to hurl them at us, but we were too far away to be in any danger.

'So be it,' spoke the king and nodded at Ianus who drew his great bow and let fly an arrow directly at the nearest of the giants. It struck true, straight in the middle of the creature's forehead, and he slowly toppled over and into the sea. This seemed to enrage the others still further and they shouted and roared and ran to and fro along the cliff-edge, but their fury was impotent.

'I really like this bow you gave me,' Ianus said to me, grinning.

'Not bad, is it?' I replied with a grin to match, and then turned back to look at the giants. ' _Ádimmaaþ_ _ond_ _á_ _dumba_ _þ_ ,' I spoke, and watched as terror took hold of them.

'What have you done this time?' asked the king.

'Rendered them blind and speechless,' I replied. 'They will not be a threat.' Indeed, even as we looked on, a giant blundered towards the cliff-edge and fell silently to his death on the rocks below, unable even to scream.

'Oars!' cried Bruta. 'Prepare to make landfall!'

'Let's see how many we can pick off before the boys with the swords get to them, shall we?' laughed Ianus, and fitted another arrow to his bow.

* * *

In the end, the few giants who remained afforded us no difficulty. Corineus seemed distinctly disappointed, and made up for it in later years by taking a particular pleasure in giant-slaying, for the land was chiefly populated by them when we first arrived and wherever we went, Corineus would seek them out. He became renowned and eventually slew Gogmagog, greatest of all the giants.

We had found a beautiful land, covered in great forests of fir, birch, beech, and all manner of other trees. The streams and rivers were teeming with fish, and it seemed that the sea was never far away. The rolling moorlands were as no place we had ever seen. So the men settled in well and divided up the land, building houses and ploughing fields. The king went on to establish the city of New Troy, and we grew and prospered.

Still much of the land remained uncharted, though, and by the king's leave Ianus and I travelled far and wide and had many an adventure. We had never been particularly close during the campaigns in Greece and Gaul, but as we journeyed together I discovered hidden and hitherto unsuspected depths to the man. I recall well one day towards the end of autumn.

'Ianus,' I began as I came up behind him. We had toiled up the steep hill for the last hour. It was a cold day, and our breath hung in the air, the chill stabbing into our lungs with every pant. It had been his idea, of course. He had said he felt sure that there would be something we should see at the top. I had laughed, but then- why not? After all, our purpose when we left New Troy had been discovery of whatever this new land had to show us, no more. We were free men.

We had just reached the crest of the hill. Now, as I stepped up behind him and next to the solitary birch tree that stood atop the summit, I fell silent.

Ianus stood stock-still, staring out over the land. To the east, the sky was clothed in a sullen grey, but as it stretched out toward the west it took on hints of blue and red as a very pale sunlight broke through the clouds. Below us, a hilly country stretched out as far as the eye could see. The summit on which we stood was just one of many in the undulating landscape, though none so high as ours, and all was was covered in dark green grasses and lighter mosses and brown ferns, interrupted only by the occasional rocky outcrop of mottled grey. Further away, the hollows formed by the rise and fall of the land were filled with a soft white mist, slowly shifting, like a great sea out of which the hilltops rose, only to sink down again and and be swallowed up.

I shivered. As beautiful as the land before us was, it was also eery. I was in no rush to descend into the vales of mist, unsure of what might await us there.

'This land lives,' said Ianus quietly. 'It's as if the earth itself came awake here. Can you smell that?' And yes, as he said it, I realized that I could: a delicious smell - earth-scent, and fresh water, and the promise of snow, and more that I could not pin-point filled the air. 'And listen!' At first, I heard only the wind. Then suddenly a skylark sang out, and its tune merged with the gentle swish of movement from the grasses and the murmuring rustle of the birch tree which almost seemed to _whisper_.

Even as my companion spoke my perception changed, and looking to my right I beheld that the tree by which we stood was both tree and more than tree. It was as if it had its own spirit, faint in the remnants of the daylight but shifting - slowly, gracefully - and somehow part of bark and branch and trunk and somehow separate from them. I knew by my art that this was no illusion. Indeed, from that day on, wherever we went I would sometimes see the trees come alive by night, weaving a great dance, in and out, around each other, whispering in their strange tongue. The half-fear dropped away from me as I beheld the birch, and then I realized with a start that it too beheld me.

I had half come to expect these insights while travelling with Ianus. His words allowed me to see what was around me with new eyes, and to see what lay beneath the outward form of things. So it was that I had come to see the Vilia of the streams, and the Naiads of the rivers. They never spoke to me, or paid me more than passing attention, but I beheld them always with awe and a sense that I was beholding what was not mine, by rights, to behold. The curious thing about this was that Ianus himself could see none of it, yet he seemed able to _feel_ what was in the land, and to express it, and so to open my sight to it. Many a time he would turn to me with shining blue eyes and speak of the beauty that he beheld, and my perception was made new.

I suppose it was inevitable, then, that I would begin to see my travelling companion in a new light. He was not a large man - tall, certainly, but slight, dark-haired and pale-faced, and the best bowman Bruta had, which was why I had laid on his bow such enchantments as would allow it to shoot an arrow over much greater distances than any other. It was Ianus' strength and his aim that kept the arrow true, though, not the bow. Yet when he spoke with that gentle love of what he saw his soul spoke to mine, and one might have been misled into thinking him a poet and not a man of arms. A man of seeming contradiction, I grew to love him with time. It was with him as it is with one's closest friends: you find that you cannot help but love them, not because of what they can give you (as wonderful as that may be), nor because of some blindness to their shortcomings, but because to be their friend and have them as your friend is, for reasons you can scarcely articulate, simply this: a great wonder and a delight, and an enrichment of your very being.

* * *

I led the the way as we descended the hill - and stopped abruptly. Ianus all but walked straight into me.

'What's your game, Mágos?' he said indignantly.

'Sorry,' I said, as I continued to look thoughtfully at the vales of silver before us. 'You know, I've been thinking.' I paused. 'When we set out from New Troy ten months ago, all I really expected was to see the land, and to have some adventures.'

My companion said nothing.

'And I have seen the land, and I have had adventures,' I continued. 'I've seen the sun rise on the seas of Corinea, and thought I might die for the beauty of it. I've seen the dance of the giants of the north, and the ride of the Sidhe through midnight glades. I've seen the spirits of the rivers and now the trees. I've wrestled with bears, slain giants, freed cities, bent dragons to my will. And yet-'

'And yet?'

I turned and looked at him. 'And yet, Ianus, these things would not have filled me with half as much delight had you not been there with me.'

A grin spread slowly across his face, and though neither of us said any more, both of us knew that the friendship of the other was precious to us, and of greater worth than all we had seen and done.

* * *

We had decided to settle in a small village in Cambria for the winter rather than travel on. The villagers were glad to have us, for our adventures had meant that our names and feats were well-known. They told us of a group of giants who had been making trouble for some of the local farmers. It didn't take us long to find them; giants are noisy creatures and certainly not subtle, and between Ianus' bow and my magic we made fairly short order of them. It was when we had returned and were sitting in the common room of the inn that Ianus eyed me and said,

'I've been meaning to ask you this for some time. Can anyone practise magic? I mean, do you just have to know the words?'

'That's not quite how it works, no. There has to be a measure of power within you in order to make use of the power that inheres in the world around you.'

'The world around you?'

'No magician has much power within himself. He draws on the power that is in the earth itself, but he has to harness that power. The greater the little power that is within him, the greater his command over the earth's own power.'

'Is there anyone who has total command over that power?'

'No.' I smiled and then suddenly became sober. 'Can you imagine what a burden that would be? The responsibility and the temptations would be terrible. Even with the small power we magicians wield, the temptation is great. There are plenty who, in their lust for power, have destroyed others in order to take their magic for themselves by dark arts. But I've only ever heard of a few who have actually given up their magic.'

'Why would anyone do that?'

'Give it up, you mean?'

Ianus nodded.

'Because even small power comes with burdens. To wield it is both to have responsibility and to make yourself a target because of the potential threat you pose. So after a lifetime of service and threat, some have preferred to surrender their magic in their last days. I can't imagine it myself, but…'

'I see,' said Ianus thoughtfully. Then he cleared his throat as if hesitant about what he was about to ask. 'Will you try- teaching me? I mean, I probably don't have any power, but I've always wondered, and, well, you know... And I can teach you how to shoot in return,' he said with a quick grin.

I agreed, of course, and we soon fell into a regular routine. In the morning, he and I would go hunting, for though it was winter there was no shortage of wildlife and the villagers were grateful for what we brought back.

'No, no, put your left foot _here_ , like I told you yesterday,' Ianus said, correcting my stance, 'and pull straight back, not at an angle. I have no idea how you managed to hit that stag earlier on. Well, actually I have a pretty good idea.' He looked at me meaningfully and I looked away in embarrassment. 'From now on, no more magic for hunting. It's cheating.'

The afternoons were spent in our rooms at the inn as I tried to teach him some of the basics of magic. Somewhat to my surprise, and greatly to his, he proved an adept student and was soon able to move small objects with a word or two.

'Why, Ianus,' I laughed, 'I'll have to be careful or you'll better me and my reputation will die!'

'You're on,' he replied with a wink, and applied himself to the spell at hand.

* * *

In fact, Ianus' power was not as great as mine in most matters, but he had a startling talent for spells that involved the manipulation of the elements that far outstripped mine so that between us there was little we could not achieve. Towards the end of the winter he received news that a companion from his battalion lay sick in a village about a week's journey away, and we agreed that he should go and that we would meet again in late spring to continue our travels together.

Oh, spring in Albion! Life spread irresistibly across the isle. New yellowy-green shoots emerged quietly on the tips of the yew trees, and the great oaks, bare all winter, were suddenly clad in fresh green. I journeyed northward and a little west, through bluebell woods, shafts of sunlight falling through the gaps in the emerging canopy to light up the blue mist in the distance; past little fields bordered by the occasional hawthorn laden with white blossom; past crab apples in their rosy glory and the thick yellow of hazel trees. To my delight, I found myself accompanied by the Dryads of the trees, who danced in their joy at winter's end, clearly visible now that all was teeming with new life, holding hands, wheeling around me, laughing and singing as they caught hold of me and pulled me into their dance.

'Come, join us, Mágos,' one of them sang as she held my hand and pulled me along.

'How do you know my name?' I asked in wonder, and she slowed her dance.

'Who does not know your name, magician? Your deeds are told throughout the isle. Do not think that because men are few in this land that there are no others who see, and no others who tell.'

'No, I-'

'The world was made for men, Mágos, not for us. We have waited long for the coming of men. The waters speak of you, the rivers and the streams, and the trees, even the very land itself. We were made for you, and in your coming we rejoice, for all things were created for a master; even you. So do not be surprised if news of your coming has travelled fast.'

'But you speak of me, not only of men.'

'Indeed, for you behold us while other men do not. The news came to us: one who sees and hears journeys through the land. My sisters know you; the Nymphs speak of you; the Sidhe tell of you; the very earth knows your name. They have woven you into their songs. They have seen your deeds, heard your voice, seen your heart. And as I see your heart, so I tell you now: beware. For your heart will be your undoing if you do not. Great heart untempered by wisdom will lead to destruction. Seek wisdom ere it is too late and others twist your trust to their own ends.'

'What do you mean?' I asked, but already the Dryad had picked up pace and whirled away from me as I was swung towards another, and I never saw her again.

I was unsure of what to make of her words, and when I met with Ianus two days later in a little village by the shores of the sea, I told him of what had occurred.

'What did she mean, 'seek wisdom'?' he asked, his face a curious mask, as if unsure of whether to trust such counsel.

'I don't know, but I'm not sure that I should just cast her words aside. I think these creatures see more than we do.'

'Well,' he said slowly, 'why don't we return to New Troy? If it's wisdom you're to look for then the greatest of our wise men live there.'

This seemed as good a course of action as I could think of, and we agreed that we would head south-east and back to the great city we had come from to shed some light on this mystery.

* * *

Not far outside the village we found ourselves scrambling between pines and down a steep rocky slope into a quiet valley. A river wound through it, bordered by willows. On any other day, I would have been pleased to linger there but the Dryad's warning weighed heavily on my mind, and the river, swollen with meltwater, was wide and fast-flowing. We made our way up the valley all afternoon, hoping to find some point where we could cross, but the river remained unfordable and the risk in swimming too great. The edge of the valley turned into sheer cliff-face, and I was aware that our only hope of escape from the valley lay now in going forwards - or back.

As evening drew on towards night we were still on the near side of the river and overhead dark storm clouds were piling up. A cold wind suddenly hissed through the valley.

'Here it comes,' I called out, and just at that moment an enormous thunderclap shook the valley and the first fat drops of rain splattered down on us.

'There!' called Ianus, and he pointed. About fifty paces from where we stood was a large, dark opening in the cliff-face that formed the edge of the valley.

'We'll need some wood!' I shouted. 'Quickly, before it gets too wet!'

'Pretty sure I could get it lit even if it was wet,' came the reply, and I couldn't help grinning in response. He was probably right. We picked up some stray branches and bundled into the cave just as the rain began to beat down in earnest.

'I don't think it's going to stop in a hurry,' I said. 'Let's go in a bit further. I'd rather not be woken up my the river lapping at my feet.'

The floor of the cave rose gently, and once we were high enough we set down our belongings and I began to arrange the damp wood.

'Come on, then,' I said. 'Let's see how good you are.'

'Pretty good, I think you'll find: _ádrýge_ _ond b_ _æ_ _rne_.'

The flame leapt up immediately, and I whistled.

'A very useful trick. The elements really do seem to stand at your command, Ianus. You're a useful person to have around.'

'I'm glad you think so,' he replied with a laugh.

* * *

Late that night, I awoke. The storm had stopped, but I could still hear the gentle patter of the rain outside. I sat up, hugging my knees. The fire had died down, and all that remained was the soft glow of the embers. On the other side of it lay Ianus, fast asleep. I listened to his steady breathing and could just make out the slow rise and fall of his rib cage in the darkness. There was no other sound - just his breathing and the rain.

Yet something had woken me, had broken my sleep. It was as if someone had called me, but- there! There it was again. Not a voice, but a small tug on my magic. I looked around. It felt as if it had come from further within the cave. It came again, and I quickly made up my mind.

'Ianus,' I said, walking over and shaking his shoulder gently. 'Ianus, wake up.'

'Uh, I- what?' he said sleepily.

'Wake up, Ianus. There's something going on.'

'What?' he said again, still half-asleep.

'Come on, brother.'

'Wait 'til morning,' he mumbled and tried to turn away from me.

'No, we need to go now. There's something magical going on here, in this cave.'

At that, Ianus sat up and rubbed his eyes.

'What do you mean?' he yawned.

'There's something- _pulling_ on my magic.'

'Pulling.'

'That's the only way I can describe it.'

'And what do you want us to do about it?'

'I want to find out what's doing it. It's coming from somewhere further inside the cave.'

'Oh, alright then,' he said, a little grumpily. Ianus had never handled a lack of sleep well. 'This had better be worth it, Mágos.'

'We came to see the land and have adventures, remember? This falls into the latter category.'

'Well, I hope so,' he said, standing up.

We grabbed a couple of stout branches to serve as torches, and with a word they were lit. As we walked towards the back of the cave the walls sloped down until we stood in narrow passageway.

'Down here; come on,' I said. The tugging sensation was becoming quite insistent and I quickly led us forward, now certain that something was afoot and eager to find the source. The tunnel wound this way and that, and I found it difficult to be sure of how far we had come, but with every step we took, the sense that I was being called grew greater until we stepped into a great cavern.

' _L_ _é_ _oht_ ,' I spoke and a gentle white glow bathed the cavern. 'There,' I said, pointing towards a stone archway consisting of two upright stones and a crosspiece. 'It's coming from in there.'

We walked over towards the arch and stopped.

'This is… strange,' I said, looking not at the stones but into the darkness beyond.

'What do you mean?'

'There's something- I'm not sure, something that I haven't encountered before. As if the earth itself was calling… I can't put my finger on it, but it doesn't feel safe, Ianus. It doesn't feel _right_. I get the sense- it's as if-'

Suddenly, I felt hands on my back and I was shoved sharply across the threshold. The light I had summoned vanished and I was in utter darkness. Even as I turned to look, I heard a voice that reverberated through the rocks to either side of and above me, and that seemed to rise up from the ground beneath my feet.

' _B_ _eclýse_ _é_ _ar_ ,' it spoke.

There stood Ianus, his eyes glowing bright gold, his face twisted hideously into an ugly sneer as a pale blue light leapt up between us and threw me backwards down the tunnel to land on my back. I could barely suppress a groan as I slowly got up and a white-hot pain stabbed down my spine. My head was reeling, my mouth dry. What had just happened? What had Ianus done? I limped slowly back towards the cavern, where he still stood, watching.

'Ianus,' I said. 'What have you done?'

'You're a fool, Mágos.' The sheer venom in his words struck right into my heart, and I could only stare at him in wide-eyed disbelief.

'The Dryad was right. You trust too easily.'

'What have you done?' I whispered.

'Put an end to your reputation, and secured mine.'

' _What have you done?_ '

'I have sealed you in the earth, Mágos. You will never again step past this threshold and back into the world of men. The door will not open from your side.'

Even as he spoke, I perceived that it was as he said. A dim glow spread between the stones of the archway, and as I reached out gingerly, my hand was stayed and I could move it no further.

'Why?'

' _Why?_ You ask me _why_? Do you not know? Didn't the tree-spirit tell you? The earth, the stones, the streams, everything tells your story. Every hill, every blade of grass, every shrub, every mountain, every stream, they all speak of the great magician' - he spat those two words out - 'who roams the land, defeating giants, taming dragons, rescuing villages; the great magician who sees and hears the spirits of the land; the great magician who speaks with them and in whom they delight because they had seen no men before and the men who came with us are deaf and blind. I am _sick_ of it, Mágos. I can barely sleep because the land speaks so loudly of you everywhere I go.'

I could barely look at him and my voice all but failed me.

'I called you _brother_.'

'And I you, until you awoke my magic and all I heard everywhere I went was your name, and the more powerful I grew the more clearly I heard it. Even now, the ground I stand on whispers about you incessantly. I hate it, and I hate you, Mágos. And the day you told me about the Dryad and how she sang your praise, I hated you all the more in your _innocence_. And now you will stay here, where earth and rock will not witness you, for I have enchanted them, made them blind and deaf in turn in this place, and you will be imprisoned here for all your days. And I will drive out the memory of your name from the land, and cut out its tongue, until all is silence and I never hear your name again. The spirits of this land will rue the day they saw you, and will know it as the day that their doom was sealed. But men will speak _my_ name, of that you can be sure.'

'I never sought praise. I never wanted-'

'I don't care what you sought, you naïve fool. If you had the tiniest ounce of elemental magic you would have known what the land was saying and what I was suffering. I despise you, and your kindness and your heroic spirit. I want nothing of you. You will rot here.'

With that, Ianus turned, the blue light faded and he disappeared from sight.

'Ianus! Don't leave me here! For the love that you once bore me, don't leave me!'

Silence.

* * *

As Ianus had been speaking, everything within me had slowly fallen apart. A hot, heavy, empty space formed in my stomach. I became dizzy. Every breath became laboured, made me feel sick. I could not get my head around what was happening, could not get my heart to grasp it. This couldn't be real. This was not my world. This was not how things happened. Surely in a minute I would wake up and it would all be a dream.

But it wasn't a dream. I sank down the rock wall, hot tears pouring down my cheeks until I felt like retching and I lay on the ground, knees tucked into my chest, sobbing. It was not my imprisonment that caused me to feel like this. It was the loss of Ianus, of his love, and his betrayal of my trust.

I must eventually have fallen asleep, for I awoke to complete darkness. For a while I lay there, staring unseeingly at the nothingness. Finally, I breathed a long sigh and stood up carefully. With a whispered word, the tunnel I stood in lit up, but the light could not penetrate the darkness beyond the archway. My power was confined to the realm I had been locked into. Resigned, I headed the other way, probing the rocks and the earth around me all the while with my magic, looking for a chink in the armour of enchantments that Ianus had laid, but there was none.

As I walked, I recalled a conversation we had had that winter, and I knew what he had done.

'Is it true that Bruta once faced a necromancer?'

'Who told you that?'

'It was a rumour that went around the camp years ago. A couple of us tried to find out what had happened, but the people who were with the king back then would just fall silent whenever it was mentioned, and refused to speak of it.'

'I'm not surprised. It was a terrible time, Ianus,' I said slowly. 'Horrific. Everything you and I have faced in our campaigns with Bruta since then has been child's play in comparison. Even the pirates of Zaree would have looked like harmless children next to Letus.'

'Letus?'

'The necromancer.'

'So _you_ were with Bruta then?'

'Yes. I was young. Very young. But I saw it all. Men torn limb from limb by demons called up from some pit of hell. They would- they would stretch their skin-'

I felt sick.

'I- I don't want to talk about it.'

Ianus nodded sympathetically.

'How did you overcome him, then?'

'I didn't. It was the other magicians. One of them told me about it afterwards. They used an ancient trick I had never heard of.' I paused, thinking back. 'There are't many truly powerful magic-workers in the world, but the kings of long ago found that those few who do exist are near-impossible to kill by conventional means. It can be like fighting the earth itself.

'The story goes that it was a sorcerer-king who, trying to rid himself of a rival, discovered that while he couldn't kill the man, he could imprison him. That had hardly ever worked in the past, because the only way to incarcerate a powerful sorcerer is to find someone even more powerful to cast the spell. This king, however, found a solution: he wove the imprisoning spells _into_ his rival's magic, like adding in threads of different colours when weaving a piece of cloth. That meant that because the spells were _part_ of the sorcerer's magic, they would simply feed off his power and would be as strong as he was, so that he could never overpower them. The individual thread was as strong as the whole piece of cloth, so to speak.'

'And that's what Bruta's magicians did?'

'Yes. It's long and complex spell-work, and you need something that belongs to the one you are trying to imprison - hair, blood, anything like that - to weave the spells in, but it can be done. I don't know how many men died trying to get close enough to Letus to bring back some part of him, but someone must have managed, in the end.'

'So once this spell-prison had been made, Letus couldn't escape?'

'Unless the spells were undone by someone from outside - again, long work, and it requires great power - no. I have never heard of anyone escaping.'

* * *

How Ianus must have laughed to himself as he listened to me while I told him how he could build me a prison I could never escape from. As I thought on this, I saw that he must have been here for weeks, for his spells were tightly interwoven with great skill. The story about a sick comrade had been a lie. He had been here all along. And how he must have laughed to himself when I believed that his suggestion of returning to New Troy had been for my sake.

A hot anger began to fill me as I realized that every word Ianus had spoken, every gesture, every smile, had been a calculated betrayal. Ever since that fateful day last winter when I had helped him discover his magic, he had been lying to me and plotting my demise, down to the act he had put on when I had woken him up last night. A boiling rage seethed through me, and I screamed out wordlessly, lashing against Ianus' spells with all my might until my body was drained and a throbbing pain filled my head - to no avail.

I sat on the ground, exhausted, and looked moodily back down the tunnel to where I knew the doorway must lie, wondering whether there was truly no way out.

There had always been something about that story that the magician had told me about Letus' imprisonment that made me wonder. A piece of cloth, he had said, with alien threads woven in, sustained by the very fabric they were now part of. How could those threads be plucked out? Only by someone outside, powerful and knowledgeable enough to unweave and disentangle. Only by someone outside. Unless, unless… How far did the cloth analogy go? If the threads were only as long as the _original_ cloth, the spells only as powerful as my power _now_ was… If I could add to that power, become more than twice as powerful, overwhelm the spells, perhaps. Perhaps.

'Oh, Ianus. You should not have betrayed me,' I said in grim determination. 'When I escape from this place, I will hunt you down like the vermin you are and destroy you.'

I resolved from that moment on that I would not rest, but would search relentlessly for a way out of this prison. I would not permit myself even the sweet sleep of death until I had exacted my vengeance upon him. I would weave my own spells throughout these tunnels and make myself lord of this realm, and any man who set foot in this place I would break, taking his strength and adding it to my own until I had the power to tear Ianus' spells asunder and do what none had done before me. Every man who came here would hear my story and know my name, and so I would defy Ianus both here and now and later in the world of men. Bitterness and resentment became my companions, and I allowed no two men to enter my realm together but that, through my guile, one would betray the other and leave him to me, even as Ianus betrayed me and left me alone. So I proved all friendship, all love, to be false and made my power strongest in the despair of others, for few men, once they believe themselves betrayed by those they hold dearest, will know of any reason to fight. Still my mind was consumed above all with one thought: to destroy the man I once called brother. He would beg for an end long before it came to him.

* * *

 _Fulfieldeen_ \- Calm  
 _Hl_ _é_ _oðor á_ _hl_ _é_ _oð_ _re andgietfullic_ \- Voice resound clearly  
 _Ádimmaaþ_ _ond_ _á_ _dumba_ _þ_ \- Become blind and mute  
 _ádrý_ _ge ond b_ _æ_ _rne_ \- dry and burn  
 _Beclýse_ _é_ _ar_ \- Close the earth


	7. Betrayal

Merlin sat next to Arthur, worrying his lip. It had been easy to drive the Dark King from his mind. The pain the King had inflicted had been real, but it had been easy. Too easy. A simple spell had forced him out. How could that be? Either the King had not expected to be resisted - but no, he had known who Merlin was, knew of the Druidic prophecies and therefore of the power he would encounter - or he had not actually been trying to overpower Merlin. And that raised the uncomfortable possibility that what pain the King had inflicted on him was as nothing to whatever it was that was to come.

And then there was Arthur. He was as pale as he had been before and the fire had done nothing to warm him. Merlin had gently probed with his magic, but couldn't find anything actually wrong with him. There was no sign of any dark power that held him in place. Had they not been unable to move him, he would not even have thought that magic was involved.

He looked around. The others were some way down the hall, looking at the engravings on some of the columns in the hope that they would tell them something about the place they were in. Sighing, he reached out to lay a hand on Arthur's forehead. As he did so, the king's eyelids flickered briefly, then opened. He stared at Merlin reaching towards him. Merlin froze, then slowly pulled back. The two looked at each other, and Merlin could see something smouldering in Arthur's eyes. His stomach lurched as he realized what it was. It was hatred. Pure, unadulterated, burning. Suddenly, without warning, Arthur was on his feet and moving towards Merlin. Before the servant could comprehend what was happening, he found himself falling backwards. His head hit the cold, hard rock of the floor with a _crack_. His vision went white, and suddenly a knee connected with his stomach as he threw up and choked on his own bile. Then strong fingers were wrapping themselves around his throat and a voice was hissing into his ear.

'You treacherous, miserable little wretch! Self-serving scum. Did you really think I would let you get away with this?'

Merlin flailed weakly and tugged uselessly at the hands around his throat, coughing.

'Arthur!' he croaked.

'Don't speak, filth.' He could feel the warmth of Arthur's breath on his skin. 'You only know how to lie. You've never spoken a true word in your life.'

The pressure on his throat increased, and his vision went black as he found that he couldn't draw breath any more. He began to panic and flapped his hands desperately against Arthur's arms.

'This is better than you deserve. For every spell you've woven, every lie you've spoken. I _trusted_ you. I wish I'd never met you, traitor.'

The words cut straight through the panic. _For every spell you've woven_. His heart stopped.

He felt himself being pulled up by the neck before his head crashed against the floor again. Then suddenly the pressure was released and through ringing ears, Merlin heard the words, 'That's enough!' being yelled and the sounds of a struggle.

'Let go of me!' he heard Arthur yell. 'Let go! He's a traitor! He-'

'Hold him down, Percy. He's lost his mind.'

Then gentle hands were touching him, softly feeling for injury. His chest, his neck, his scalp-

'…bleeding from the back of his head.'

'…got the bandages?'

He was being lifted. Tender hands held his head, and something soft was wrapped around it.

'-on't let him black ou-'

'-lin? Stay with me, Merlin.'

But the darkness was welcoming, and Merlin, terrified and heart-broken, sank into it gratefully.

* * *

Arthur sat staring into the flames of the little fire.

'All I knew was hatred. Everything in me was consumed by it. There was only one thing that mattered: to take revenge on Ianus, by killing him and by making my name great.'

'So when you saw Merlin…?' Gwaine prompted.

'So when I saw Merlin, all I could see was the man who had betrayed my trust. I saw Ianus. I don't know why.'

The knights glanced at each other.

'Really?' said Percival. 'Forgive me, sire, but is it really that strange?'

'What do you mean?'

'I know that visiting dignitaries think that Merlin's just a servant, but the whole of the castle knows that he's not just a servant. Not to you. Not to us, either, but especially not to you.'

Arthur stayed silent.

'He's your friend, Arthur,' Elyan said. 'You probably trust him more than any of the rest of us, even if you never say it. It's obvious. And he's been more loyal to you than anyone.'

'He'd give up his life for you,' said Gwaine. 'Yet he's not sworn to that, unlike us, and he isn't treated as if he was, unlike us. We get the honour and the rank because we take our oath. He gets nothing, except to be by you, and do you know what? I almost think that that's enough for him. I don't know anyone who would give as much for you in exchange for so little.'

'And we know that there's very little you wouldn't do for him. You barely knew him and you defied your father to find the _mortaeus_ for him,' said Elyan.

'He'd just saved my life. It was the right thing to do,' protested Arthur.

'But you didn't just do it because it was right, did you?' said Gwaine. 'And you didn't take his place to fight me in Jarl's arena just because it was right. And you didn't carry him from Morgana's mercenaries when he was injured just because it was right. You did it all because you're his friend, too, and because you'll do everything you can for him, as much as your position allows. Because you care about him too.'

'So your feelings - or rather, Mágos' feelings - towards Ianus were very similar, at first, to your feelings towards Merlin,' continued Percival. 'At least, as far as the trust was concerned. And when you woke believing that your trust had been betrayed by the friend you trusted most…'

Arthur looked at the unconscious figure of his manservant. Pale and dishevelled, he looked terribly young as he lay there.

'Mágos hates friendship,' he said sadly. 'He hates loyalty and,' and he said the next word almost inaudibly, 'love. The things Merlin- that he lives. Mágos- I'm not sure how, but he gets friends to betray each other. He'll even allow one of them to escape from here in order to betray the other and drive them to despair. He hates the glory of others, and he hates everything that Camelot is built upon.

'Merlin once said to me that he was happy to be my servant 'til the day he died,' Arthur continued quietly. 'And how have I repaid him?'

'That's the Dark King's influence,' said Percival. The others looked at him. 'I haven't told you what happened to me in the tunnels before Gwaine and Merlin found me, but I think it explains what you did, Arthur.

'I was caught in a vision. Except that it was more than that. I was living someone else's life. I saw everything through his eyes, felt his feelings. I _was_ him.'

With that, Percival told them the story of the physician who fled Uther's men.

'I was terrified of your father, Arthur. The rumours of what Uther did to people with magic were beginning to spread, and although nothing was known for certain, there was talk of-' He swallowed. 'Of fire. Some people said they had heard the screams in visions and dreams. I couldn't let the soldiers catch me. I couldn't. And then there was Iseult, and Drustan. I didn't know how else to protect them but by running.

'I've never been so scared in all my life. I've never been as afraid as I was in that vision. I can still feel the fear now. It was horrific, Arthur.'

'Father always said,' said Arthur slowly, 'that we had to take the fight to those with magic, otherwise they would bring it to us.'

'I - the physician, I mean - had never travelled more than a few days' journey in any direction. There was nothing in me - in him - that spoke of wanting to even go to Camelot, never mind wanting to do anything to undermine the king. Life was good: I had a wife and a child and the promise of a quiet life. I earned enough; I was content. I'd had magic for years and had no desire at all to get more of it. I was happy - _he_ was happy - knowing the handful of spells he knew. I don't like to speak ill of the dead, sire, but-'

'Then don't,' said Arthur. 'You don't need to. I understand what you're saying.'

'Anyway,' Percival continued, 'when I woke up I was sure that I _was_ this man, and that I had just met the Dark King and that he had shown me Iseult being unfaithful and that I had given up. Gwaine knows.' He threw a grateful look towards Gwaine, who gave a small smile and nodded back. 'I think something similar happened to you.'

Arthur looked back at Merlin.

'I haven't- we never really- really _talk_ … I mean, we- I don't-' His voice became strained. 'I wish I'd seen _him_. I can't believe that I…' He lapsed into silence. The others shifted uncomfortably.

'I wonder whether this means that he's now living Mágos' story, too,' said Gwaine.

'I don't know,' said Arthur miserably.

* * *

'In the meantime,' said Gwaine eventually, 'we should try to find a way out of here. There's only one entrance to the hall, so we have to find our way out through the tunnels. We'll need torches - two each and backups - to keep Merlin's shadow creatures at bay.'

'My torch went out when I stepped through the doorway,' said Arthur.

'So did ours,' said Gwaine, 'except for Merlin's. But if that happens when we enter the tunnels from here, we can just come straight back.'

'What about Merlin?' asked Elyan.

'We can try taking him with us, but it might take us a while to find the doorway. We'll probably need our hands free for the torches, and with a head injury I think it would be wiser to find the way out and come back for him.'

'I'm not leaving him here,' said Arthur abruptly.

'I wasn't suggesting that we all go,' replied Gwaine. 'One of us can stay.'

They looked at each other. Then, as one man, the three knights looked at Arthur.

'No,' said Arthur. 'Absolutely not. I won't let you all go into danger while I wait here for you to come back.' He stood up resolutely, and gasped as his head reeled and the hall around him swayed drunkenly.

'I'm fine,' he snapped as Percival steadied him.

'You don't look fine,' observed Gwaine.

'I'm your _king,_ Gwaine.'

'Then you're my king who doesn't look fine,' came the reply. 'You look like you can't even stand up on your own.'

'This is your fault,' said Arthur and took a step forward, only to find that doing that made him feel nauseous. He promptly sat down again and glowered at Gwaine. 'You didn't have to hit me with a sword.'

'Actually, I did,' replied Gwaine easily. 'You wouldn't listen and kept trying to get at Merlin. And anyway, it was only the flat. You'll survive. So we're agreed, you stay here?' Arthur muttered something.

'One of us should stay with them,' said Elyan.

Arthur's head snapped up in disbelief, and he then clutched it at the rash motion.

'Elyan,' he bit out, 'I don't know what you think of me, but I'm not-'

'I don't mean that, Arthur. I mean that you're both injured.'

Arthur's expression softened and he nodded slowly. If he lost consciousness when Merlin needed him - it didn't bear thinking about.

'Good,' said Gwaine. 'Percy and I will go.'

'You at least need a plan,' said the king.

'We have a plan. Find the way out, come back and get you, and go.'

'Oh, get on with it then. And don't forget to mark the walls so that you know where you've been.'

* * *

 _Darkness had descended upon the hill, but still he ran. The golden tree that had stood atop it was just a memory now; no bright light shone out to illuminate the hill and the land around it any longer. No scent of wildflowers, no song of water filled the air._

 _'Stay,' whispered the darkness, 'stay.' It clutched at him, soft tendrils laying themselves gently on his flesh, his arms, his legs, his chest, his face, caressing, enticing. 'Stay.'_

 _'No,' he whispered back, placing one foot in front of the other, forcing himself forward step by step._

 _'Stay.'_

 _The grip on him tightened, became solid, pulled at him, but still he ran._

 _Then the darkness grew nails and he cried out in anguish as it dug into him, and each step he took forced its nails in further. Deep, deep into him the darkness clawed, tearing at his flesh and he felt the blood well up and overflow until his skin was slick with it and it stung in his eyes and stank in his nose. Then the dark's fangs gripped, and his muscles were severed and useless._

 _The grass had all gone. He lay in a barren landscape among rocks, and as he inched his way forward, fingers slowly contracting to pull himself forward, the grit and filth was forced into his wounds._

 _Finally his hand touched something._

 _It was a tree-root. But it felt dry. Like the landscape, there was no life flowing through it. It was dead. And even as he touched it, the tree turned to fine, dry, grey dust and poured down gently upon him, covering him, weighing down on him, filling his lungs with every breath until he fell into nothingness._

* * *

Elyan stood by the entrance to the tunnel and watched the torches recede into the distance. Then they turned a corner and were gone. He sighed and looked over to the other two further down the hall. Arthur was just sitting there, hands in his lap, shoulders slightly hunched over, his back to Elyan, probably staring at Merlin, and the knight felt a pang of sorrow in his heart for the two men as he realized what a struggle they now faced with each other. He wasn't sure whether they would come through it, and he knew that if they didn't, then it would change everything.

Of course Arthur would still be king, but until now he had been a king who had had his best friend by his side at all times. Both of them would be broken without each other and that would play out in all their relationships. Maybe even in the rule of the kingdom. Who would have thought that a servant could matter so much? But then, who would have thought that a commoner might become a knight? If Merlin mattered, it was in part because Arthur allowed him to. The question now was whether the two would continue to allow each other to matter.

Elyan shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unsure of whether to rejoin Arthur or to leave him be. If Merlin woke up - no, _when_ he woke up - Arthur was going to have to make one of the most important decisions of his life, and Elyan was far from convinced that his presence would be helpful. Perhaps it would be best to wait here for a while and to see what happened, if anything. If Arthur wanted him, he could always call. Yes. That was probably best for now.

He looked back to the tunnel, but saw nothing but inky blackness out of which flowed a continuous whispering at the edges of his hearing. It was starting to grate on Elyan's nerves. He shuddered. He was not a coward, but a small part of him was grateful that it was Gwaine and Percival who were in the tunnels, and not him. Oh, he would have gone if-

'Bring me peace.'

Elyan froze as he heard the words which lurked at the edges of his dreams, tipping them into nightmares, and he recalled with absolute clarity the voice of a boy, pale, drowned, drowning. He stared into the darkness, breathing hard.

Nothing.

Still he watched, every nerve taught, straining to hear. The whispers continued, but he couldn't make the words out clearly. The whisperers still kept away from the light of the hall, and the darkness wasn't changing.

Or was it?

A patch of blue light in the tunnel. Elyan's eyes fixed upon it. Had it been there before? It was just coming from the hall, surely. But he couldn't remember seeing it before. Almost it seemed to grow-

A dark shape suddenly flitted across before him, and he barely stifled a yell.

'-come with me-'

Panic seized him, and his vision clouded. Without knowing what he was doing, he stepped forward.

* * *

Arthur watched Merlin. There wasn't anything else to do, and left on his own with his motionless companion, his mind began to wander down uncomfortable paths. In some sense, what he had done wasn't his fault. He hadn't been acting on his own feelings. They were the Dark King's. But that didn't change the fact that _he_ was the one to feel them, and he wasn't at all sure that that distinction - his feelings, the Dark King's - had any real meaning. If _he_ had acted on these feelings, which he had, then what difference did it make whether they were 'technically' his or someone else's? _He_ had felt them, _he_ had attacked Merlin, and that was something _he_ was responsible for. If only he'd-

Suddenly the man in question gave a great, heaving gasp, a desperate, panicked drawing-in of air. Eyelids flickered, and then opened. Bleary eyes looked back at him, then widened in fear as realization struck and he shrank away, tried to crawl backwards, terror written plainly on his face as he found that his body wasn't responding properly and that Arthur was only a few steps away.

Arthur felt sick. He slowly raised his hands for a moment, palms forward, and sat back, trying to show his friend - the knights had been right - that he would not do anything to him, while Merlin scrabbled back against a wall and managed to get himself sat upright. He looked very small, hugging his knees, eyes looking over them to watch Arthur fearfully, his body tense and trembling. They sat like that for a while, neither speaking a word.

'I'm sorry,' Arthur finally said lamely. He didn't know what else to say to the man - friend - best friend - he'd been trying to kill, who'd given himself for his king's cause countless times and whom he had treated as little more than a dogsbody as long as they had known each other.

'I'm so sorry, Merlin. I'm- disgusted at what I did to you. I thought- I woke up, and I'd been dreaming and I thought you were a sorcerer and that you'd lied to me and betrayed me, and all I could think was how much I hated you. Not you. The man in my dream. The one who had betrayed me. Because I trusted him with all my heart and he- and I don't know why I thought you were him. Percival said it was the Dark King's influence but… It was still me. I did it. I- did those things to you. I'm- sorry, Merlin. Truly, truly sorry. I know you're not a sorcerer. I know you would never betray me, that you don't lie to me. You're loyal to a fault. That's why- why I can't believe what I-'

His voice trailed off. He couldn't look the other man in the eye as he spoke.

Merlin said nothing.

* * *

Merlin was bewildered and frightened and he couldn't control the tremors that ran up and down his spine - but his heart was already listening to Arthur, trying to find a way to forgive him, anything to restore his king to himself.

Until he said those words.

'I know you're not a sorcerer. I know that you don't lie to me.'

Merlin's heart dropped into the pit of his stomach as his mind supplied the unspoken answer.

'But I am a sorcerer. I've lied to you for as long as you've known me. Every single day has been packed with my lies.'

How often he had wanted to find a way to tell Arthur, but the moment had never been right, and he saw now that it never would be. He'd stupidly hoped that a day would come when he would tell Arthur everything, and Arthur would know him fully, and Arthur would accept him, and…

How long had it been since he had tried to save Uther with magic? A year? He'd been so full of hope that he could show Arthur just how far his loyalty went, that not all magic-users were bent on the destruction of Camelot, and then Morgana had made sure that it had all gone so, so wrong. What irony. And Arthur had _hated_ him in that moment, even if Arthur himself didn't know it, and now he saw that the hatred had never gone.

It would almost have been easier if he'd awoken to find that Arthur's hatred really _was_ his own, and that it was still there. At least then there'd have been no more need for pretence and it would all have been over. But now he knew beyond all doubt what awaited him if Arthur ever found out. The only thing he really wanted, and it would end in bitter failure. And there would be no knights to hold the king back. There would be no freedom for his like. No great destiny. There would only be fire, and the screams of those caught in it.

He swallowed painfully.

There would be no friendship, just smiles and quick wit to cover endless fear until the truth was revealed.

He closed his eyes.

* * *

'Let me take a look at you,' said Arthur next to him.

Merlin's eyes flashed open and he jerked away.

' _Merlin_ ,' said Arthur. 'I'm not going to ask you to forgive me. I don't think I can forgive myself-'

'Oh, you will, when you find out,' supplied the voice in Merlin's mind.

'-but that doesn't mean that I'm not going to try to look after you. At least while we're here.' _You won't want to have anything to do with me once we're out._ 'Move over here and let me look.'

It was easier to comply. He didn't want to talk anyway. And what did it matter what Arthur did? It was all for nothing now. Oh, he'd still do everything he could for Arthur, of course, but there was now a time limit. Arthur would find out and that would be the end of- everything. It was difficult to care, now.

He felt the bandages being unwrapped, and flinched as the final one pulled at the wound.

'Sorry.' Then cool fingers were carefully parting his hair. 'I'm going to have to wash this to see it properly. That alright?'

He nodded fractionally, heard Arthur unstop one of the water skins, and then water was trickling down the back of his scalp to be gently dabbed up.

'It's not too deep. It'll heal quite quickly. The- outside, anyway. How's your- your throat?'

He shrugged. 'Hurts,' he whispered.

Arthur stood up slowly and came around before him. Merlin noticed that he seemed to be struggling to keep his balance. Then Arthur knelt down, and reached behind Merlin's neck to untie the knot of his neckerchief. When he had finally managed it and removed the piece of cloth, his face crumpled and his eyes welled up.

He could see the dark imprint of his own fingers as bruises clearly around Merlin's neck.

'Merlin, I- I-' he whispered, not knowing what to do.

Merlin grabbed the neckerchief from Arthur's hands and looked away, tying it back around his neck and blinking back tears of his own. He wasn't sure why he was crying, whether it was because of what Arthur had done to him, or because they were both hurt by it, or because he'd lost hope, or because of something else. He waved a hand, as if to say, 'Go away,' and for once, the king did his servant's bidding.

* * *

'Where are the others?' Merlin croaked, trying to change the subject, and Arthur winced at the sound. His doing.

'They've gone to look for a way out,' he replied. 'Well, Gwaine and Percival. Elyan's still back there in the hall somewhere.'

'Into the _tunnels_?'

'Yes. There's no other way out of here.'

''s dangerous in the tunnels. The shadows…'

'They've got torches. I'm sure they'll be fine. Apparently the shadows don't like the light.'

'Stupid,' coughed Merlin, breathing hard. 'Too dangerous.'

'What actually happened in the tunnels? Percival told me what happened to him, but there was no time for the others to say much.'

'Why does it matter?' said Merlin tiredly.

'Because if we're to get out of here, then we need some sense of what we're up against.' _And because I want you talk to me, even if things can't go back to how they were_.

'Alright,' sighed Merlin, his throat aching. 'When I stepped through the doorway, I was- somewhere. I don't know where. Somewhere in the tunnels. And I heard them - the voices of the shadow men. They come from all around you and they try to tell you their stories. They fight amongst each other to get to you, and they- they get into you, somehow. It's horrible. You suddenly start seeing what they're telling you about, but because they're fighting you only get tiny glimpses and you don't know what's going on.'

'It sounds like what the Dark King does. He tells you his story and you live it and for a while you think you're him.'

'Yes. And sometimes only one of the shadows has you. At least, that's what happened to Percival, so he lived through everything.'

'How did you fight them off?'

'They- don't like light.'

'Oh yeah. Gwaine said your torch didn't go out. Lucky, that.'

'Yeah.'

'Otherwise you might all still- still be in the tunnels.'

'Yeah.'

'Though at least then I wouldn't have done- done what I-'

'Please, Arthur. Let's not talk about that. I'm not really ready to handle it. I don't hate you, though, okay? Just- I need time.'

Four little words, and they made all the difference. He had hardly dared hope.

'Okay. I understand.' He fell silent. Then a thought struck him. 'When Gwaine mentioned the shadows, he called them _Merlin's shadow creatures_. Why did he call them that?'

Merlin suddenly became wary, but he couldn't see a way past answering this one.

'Dunno. Perhaps because he couldn't see them.'

'Too dark?'

'No. Even when he had a torch he couldn't.'

'And the others?'

'No,' he said slowly. 'They couldn't, either.'

Arthur looked at Merlin curiously. Something had suddenly tugged at his memory. Something Percival had said, but he couldn't remember what it was. 'You really are quite unusual, aren't you.'

'Is that a compliment, sire?'

'If you think being called strange is a compliment then yes, it is.'

* * *

'They've been gone a long time,' said Merlin after a while.

'I'm sure they'll be back soon.'

'Why did they leave you here?'

'Someone had to look after you.'

'What, and _you_ volunteered?'

'Not exactly. It's just that Gwaine had to knock me over the head, and I couldn't walk properly afterwards.'

'So they left me the guy with brain damage. Great.'

'You can talk. Besides, Elyan's here, too. In case something happened to both of us.'

'Elyan's - where?'

'Somewhere back there.' Arthur waved vaguely, then turned around.

'Elyan!' he yelled.

There was no reply.

'Elyan!'

Still nothing.

Two pairs of worried eyes met.

'I think we should go after them,' said the manservant.

'For once, Merlin, I actually agree with you. Can you stand?'

By way of answer, Merlin put his hands on the floor and lifted himself, shifting his legs as he did so and leaning on the wall for support. His knees shook when he was finally upright and he closed his eyes and swallowed.

'You look as bad as standing makes me feel,' said Arthur and slowly got up and came over. 'Lean on me.'

'What?'

'Lean on me. I'll help you.' _It's the least I can do_. So the two men made their way slowly towards the tunnel entrance, shuffling step by shuffling step, Merlin leaning on Arthur, who was doing all he could to remain upright himself. When they got to the spot, they stopped and stared.

'Well, this is a bit unusual,' said Merlin finally.

'I think Gwaine must have hit me harder than I thought.'

Where the tunnel had been, there was now a wall of crystal with no break to be seen in it. It was as if the entrance had never existed.

'What now?' asked Merlin.

'No idea. I have _no_ idea.'

They stood in silence, both breathing heavily with the strain of standing, Merlin holding on tightly to Arthur's arm, not trusting himself to remain upright.

A whisper ran around the cavern. Merlin's head jerked up, but Arthur didn't seem to have heard anything.

And now Arthur remembered, and a dark thought entered his mind. 'You know,' he said as he stared at the wall, 'I've just realized something.'

Merlin bit back the obvious rejoinder. 'Oh?'

'Yes.' He fell silent as he studied the wall without really seeing it. Finally, he said, 'Percival _did_ see the shadow creatures. Only he saw them in his vision.'

'I don't think I knew that.'

'No,' said Arthur. 'There probably wasn't time to discuss it in the tunnels.'

'Not really. We were trying to find Elyan and you.'

Arthur hummed in response, while Merlin threw him a nervous glance. He wasn't sure where this going, and it worried him.

'Did Percival tell you _anything_ about his vision?' Arthur asked after another minute's silence.

'Not really. Arthur, what are you-'

'The man whose life he saw was a sorcerer and a physician, chased by my father's men. He came here for safety and the Dark King took him. He had a wife and child.'

Merlin stood quietly and stock-still as a gaping hole opened up beneath him and he felt his life pouring out of his body into it, and dread climbing up from the depths of the earth and slowly taking hold of him.

'Of course, it might just be coincidence. Perhaps it's just that some people can see the shadows and some can't.'

Merlin stood wordlessly, staring at the floor.

'Or perhaps it's something that's special to physicians.'

Rising fear.

'But that seems unlikely.'

 _Miserable wretch._

 _Scum._

 _Filth._

 _Traitor._

Each word a knife to the heart, twisted slowly.

Arthur prised Merlin's hand off his arm and stood back.

Here it came.

'Merlin, do you have magic?'


	8. In the Darkness, Shining Gold

**Author's** **note - part I**  
Well, here it is - the first chapter I worked on when writing this story. There isn't much of the original text left, but the heart of this story was always Arthur and Merlin's friendship and whether they could pass this test. Quite a number of you commented on the cliffhanger ending to the previous chapter; I hope you feel that this one delivers and that it offsets some of that ending.

 **Guest:** Thank you for your review. As I've said to a few other people, the chapter just ended itself there; I deny all responsibility ;) I'm glad you're enjoying the story!

* * *

 **Chapter Eight: In the Darkness, Shining Gold  
** 'Merlin, do you have magic?'

Merlin froze as a chill ran down his spine and he became strangely aware that he could feel each of his limbs. Then it was as if all the blood in his body had run up the inside of his skin and briefly come to rest at the back of his head and neck, which now felt exposed, as if a small hole had opened up at the back of it. His mouth was uncomfortably dry, and he felt slightly sick. He coughed, tried to say something. Tried to say, 'Of course not,' to say _anything_ ,but his throat closed up, the words wouldn't come out of his mouth, and his eyes, slipping sideways and looking anywhere but Arthur, betrayed him.

'Merlin.'

The walls of the great hall were not smooth, as he had previously thought, but patterned. Strings of crystal ran over and under, layered on top of each other like embroidery. His gaze followed the threads as they travelled up and disappeared somewhere in the vaulted ceiling above. He wished he could follow them, could just disappear. His breathing was becoming spasmodic; he couldn't seem to draw a breath without several hitches, and he was having difficulty expelling the air. He swallowed hard, and his eyes shifted to the floor and to Arthur's boots. They had been a gift from Guinevere when she had noticed that the king had been walking with a barely perceptible limp, and had found that the sole of one of the old boots had worn away substantially. Two weeks' worth of mud and grime clung to them now. He should have cleaned them the other night, when he had had the time.

His shoulders sagged. His eyes were open wide, blinking repeatedly, his brow furrowed. His lip trembled, and he bit it. Then, behind Arthur, the light shifted slightly and Merlin found himself staring straight past the king's shoulder at a mass of pale people, their faces blank, their eyes full of sorrow. The light shone through them, and without needing to be told Merlin knew with certainty that these were the shades of the tunnels - men who had been caught in the Dark King's domain, never to escape, not even into death. Beyond them a black cloud covered the wall, and as it wrapped in on itself and disappeared, a doorway emerged behind it - two upright stones topped by a crosspiece, inscribed with runes. The watchers had been summoned by their lord for what they knew was a turning point, and all now waited silently to see what Arthur, King of Camelot, and Merlin, a nobody of Ealdor, would do.

'Merlin.'

He knew that voice. It was dangerous, now - not asking but telling, the voice that had told Caerleon that he left him no choice and that had declared, 'So be it.' He closed his eyes and scrunched them up, willing himself to- but no, he couldn't look at Arthur for fear of what he would see written in his face. He had seen it once already. He could not face it again. Merlin swallowed again, and sank to his knees, head bowed forward, the only answer he could give.

Minutes passed; how many, he didn't know. Then, the sound of metal clinking against rock, followed by footsteps - footsteps walking away from him.

Arthur was leaving him.

'Don't... don't go,' he whispered, but the footsteps vanished into the distance. The king had passed sentence on his servant. He had been found guilty, and he was to be left in this accursed place of darkness until it consumed him, heart and mind, and there was nothing left but wraith-like existence built on endless hunger and misery. The loneliness that had dwelt on the inside of him, the years of continuous hiding and fear, were to be made manifest in this place.

But more acutely, towering above all fear of the darkness, one truth stabbed home: Arthur had left him. Merlin bent in on himself, his body wracked with sobs as his heart was rended in two. He had lost the one man who had been his purpose and given reason to his existence, whom he loved better than he loved his own life. His body convulsed as he retched air, great, silent sobs of loss and despair, his mouth forming the name of his king but his lungs unable to do his bidding and speak it out.

* * *

A grim sense of foreboding had settled on Arthur's heart as soon as he remembered Percival's words even though he did not immediately understand their significance. Something about seeing the shadows in his vision. Why was that important?

Because none of their group had seen the shadows except Merlin. Because the man whose eyes Percival had seen through had been a sorcerer.

No. This was ridiculous. How could he be thinking like this? Not three hours ago he had violently and ruthlessly attacked Merlin, accused his ridiculously loyal friend of disloyalty, and now he was dangerously close to wondering whether he had been right to do so. What was _wrong_ with him?

But still, said a voice in his mind. It _was_ strange. Magical subjects of a magical king, invisible to most. The most obvious difference, the clearest explanation for why Percival had seen the shadows in his vision but not with his own eyes was that one man had magic and the other did not. It made sense. A lot of sense.

And then there was the question of why Merlin's torch had not gone out when everyone else's had. There was no good reason for it. Perhaps it _had_ gone out. Lighting a torch with magic was probably not very difficult, his mind told him. He'd seen far greater feats, after all.

Come to think of it, there were all kinds of things that were strange about Merlin. On the quest for the Fisher King's trident, that little dwarf - what was his name? Grattar? Grettir? - had said something about courage, strength and magic. But the way he'd said the words, you could _hear_ the capital letters. They were people. There'd been no magic that he had witnessed on the quest, but there had been three people, and Merlin was not Strength - not in the conventional sense, at least - whereas Gwaine… Then there was that business with Sigan, whose defeat had never been satisfactorily explained but which he had long suspected involved Merlin in some way. And how had he survived the Dorocha's touch? No, there were a lot of questions to which 'magic' would be a troublingly satisfactory answer.

Arthur wasn't sure whether he wanted to know the answer to the question burning in his mind. What if it was 'yes'? But it wouldn't be. There'd be some other set of explanations. The answer would be 'no', and he would accept it.

Because he had to ask.

He stepped back a little from his friend.

'Merlin, do you have magic?'

And he watched in horror as the other man's gaze suddenly shifted to the walls as his lips moved soundlessly, and a fiery snake suddenly awoke and curled through his gut. Surely… surely…

'Merlin?'

 _Come on, idiot. Just say 'no'. It's not difficult. I'll believe you._

But he wasn't saying it. And he wasn't looking at Arthur. In fact, it was as if he couldn't. Where was the quick-witted insult, the eyes rolled?

And then it wasn't Merlin standing in front of Arthur. It was a shell of a man who stood biting his lip, desperate to speak but unable, and the guilt was written into his stance and all over his grimy face as a stray tear escaped from the corner of an eye.

The snake that had lain coiled leapt up and the fire ran through his heart and burnt into his mind, hissing one word.

 _Traitor_. You can't trust them. Not a single one of them. Once you know one sorcerer, you know them all, his father had said. And now his father's ways, which he'd once questioned, seemed eminently wise and Arthur felt a fool. To draw others too close into your counsel, to trust them too greatly, to hold them too dear - Uther Pendragon had seen the folly in those things and had ruled all the better for it, seeing treachery before it came to his door, and yet undone by it in the end, by his own daughter whom he could not help but love.

And that daughter was no different from the witches who came before her - Morgause, Nimueh. All three had made pretences to Arthur - that they wanted to help, perhaps even cared, and all three had turned out to be snakes.

Last chance.

'Merlin.'

His manservant opened his mouth and closed it again, sank to his knees and bowed his head, still unable to look Arthur in the face.

The power always eats up every last bit of humanity that might have been in them. They'll talk about love and fidelity and worm their way into your heart while underneath the mask everything is rotten and dead. They'll feed you lies all day long with smiling eyes and they'll stab you in the back when it suits them. They serve no one but themselves.

He stared at the figure before him. Miserable, miserable wretch. How could he be so- so _hollow_? He _looked_ so faithful, even more so than Morgana had. How could he live so faithfully on the outside while inside, the power was corrupting his heart and-

Arthur turned away in disgust. He didn't recognize the wretched creature kneeling in front of him and didn't want to recognize him. And as he turned, wanting only to get away, he beheld in the rock face in front of him a doorway. Finely carved bluestone lintels topped by a crosspiece. The way out. He stared at it.

'Leave him,' said a voice in his mind. 'It's better than he deserves, but- just go. You can walk away and never have anything to do with him again.'

He strode towards the doorway, but as he approached the upright stones, he slowed. He turned. Merlin was still kneeling on the floor, dark head bowed, body shaking - with the cold? With fear? He didn't know. He watched him bitterly for one long moment. Perhaps once he'd been true. Perhaps once he'd been faithful. When they first met, perhaps. But how could he have let himself become- become _this_? Perhaps he deserved this mercy after all - to be left alive, to make his own way out if he could. Yes. Yes, he would leave him here, and if he survived, then so be it. If he didn't, then that was justice's way.

Even as he turned back towards the door and took a step forward, mind made up, words spoken long ago cut through his thoughts clearly and unbidden.

' _And there a toll is laid on each man of worth._ '

His step faltered. Eorlric's words. The man who had stood in this same place and who had issued a warning to others who came here; a warning which, against the odds, had survived the ravages of time and had finally been passed on to him, Arthur Pendragon.

A toll. What had Eorlric meant? What toll was laid upon the man of worth? What toll had Eorlric paid? Why was he remembering those words _now_?

And then it struck him. Of course, it was obvious. Hanfell. The toll was Eorlric's loss of his travelling companion, the guilt and loss and shame borne by the knight for the rest of his days, knowing that he had left his brother in arms in the Dark King's domain to save himself, condemning him to haunt the tunnels forever. For that surely was what happened to those who remained.

Again he turned, and looked at Merlin. Could he really just leave him here to become a shadow, eternally? Was that mercy?

He made up his mind and as he walked back, he drew his sword.

* * *

Footsteps. A whisper of steel, the sound of which he knew very well. Arthur had not left him. He was still here. Merlin tensed, still kneeling. So it had come to this. But it was better than fire. Arthur had always been more merciful than Uther, even in his anger. At least it would be quick. He raised himself up a little and extended his neck. He would take whatever his king dealt out. It would be better than living knowing whom he had lost. He sniffed, wiping his nose with his sleeve. Then all fell still.

Long moments went by, and still Merlin waited. Was this part of Arthur's punishment - to stretch this out?

A clink of armour.

'Please,' Merlin croaked. 'Please, just- just do it.'

Suddenly a hand was under his chin, and he couldn't help himself: he looked up, startled and uncertain. Arthur sat on his haunches in front of him. Excalibur lay on the ground next to him, and as Merlin looked into his king's face, brilliant blue eyes searched his.

'Tell me,' said Arthur quietly.

'No,' said Merlin in terror. 'No, Arthur. I've- I've done terrible things, terrible, Arthur, you can't- you won't- if you knew, you wouldn't forgive, it's too much, it's not just the magic, I- I-'

'Just tell me,' said Arthur.

Merlin shook his head vehemently.

'You'll hate me, even more,' he whispered. 'You should just go now. Or- or do- what you- with the sword. You'll wish you'd never known me. You'll-'

'Why don't we let me decide what I'll feel like? Just tell me, Merlin.'

Merlin looked into Arthur's eyes, and his gaze fell to the floor.

It was all or nothing, then. No real choices any more. But at least this good would come of it: that Arthur would be so horrified by what his so-called friend had done that he would take the door and go. Because that was the only thing that could be worse than being abandoned: knowing that Arthur was trapped here forever, too. Perhaps this was his destiny after all.

'I- poisoned Morgana,' he whispered. 'It's my fault she's- what she is. I knew she had magic. I could have helped her, but I didn't. I- she turned against us because of me. And I- released the dragon. It's all on my head. All the- death.'

The shame and guilt sat so heavily on him now that he could no longer look up at all. He didn't even care what Arthur did to him now. It was the end anyway. It didn't matter any more.

'Go,' he said, and barely managed to choke the word out.

'Tell me how it happened,' he heard Arthur's voice distantly, as if through a blanket. He opened his mouth, but it felt as if it was full of something soft and dry, and his lungs were clogging up with it and the words wouldn't come out. A finger under his chin gently lifted his face upwards again, and then suddenly the cave tilted and he was falling and knew no more.

* * *

 _Twilit hope, fading, dulled,  
ember's glow scarce to be seen,  
buried now in hidden depths -  
and there no more than distant dream -  
awaken now, for blazing bright  
love has come, an end to night._

* * *

He came to feeling quite dozy and pleasantly warm. Strange. He was sure, in a vague way, that he had been cold before. Still, it didn't matter. The warmth spread comfortably through him, and he could feel some soft material resting gently on his hand. Perhaps he was in his bed, under the blankets, in his room, although it didn't feel quite like that. He was pretty sure that he was sitting upright, leaning against something. It felt right, wherever he was. Safe.

He sat there for a long time, half-focused on each breath, in, out, half-focused on nothing at all. Perhaps it was his day off. Gaius would wake him if he needed to be up. He always did.

'Merlin,' said a quiet voice he knew very well but couldn't quite place. 'Are you awake?' The voice was very close.

He hummed quietly in acknowledgement, not wanting to speak.

The warmth and sense of safety grew a little.

'Just rest, Merlin,' said the voice. So he did. Strange, though. That voice - it wasn't Gaius', whose was it? It was… oh, it didn't matter. It was someone he could trust.

* * *

When he next awoke, his eyes opened almost immediately. A blue glow filled his vision. As his eyes grew accustomed to it, he saw a small pile of armour and a sword not far away. He wondered whose it was. There didn't seem to be anyone else around. He looked down, and found that he was sitting under a red cloak that had been tucked under his chin. He had no memory of covering himself up. It was nice, though.

Where was he, he wondered. The walls of the place looked strangely familiar. They seemed to glow under their own power, and he could see some kind of crystal tracery running along them.

Suddenly it all came back to him in a rush, and he saw to his horror that the doorway in the rock had vanished, and that there was no sign of Arthur. He sat bolt upright and began to panic. He couldn't breathe. Something was tightening around his chest and-

'Breathe, Merlin,' said a voice in his ear. 'I've got you. You're safe.'

And he realized at that moment that the tight feeling around his chest was the feeling of arms holding him, and that the warmth he felt spreading through him from his back was the warmth of another body, and that the voice belonged to Arthur.

'Arthur?' he whispered.

'I'm right here, Merlin. With you. I'm not leaving you.'

Merlin put his hands on the ground, and very slowly turned himself to his right, not yet daring to believe or to hope. A leg was in his way. He slung both of his own over it. Finally he was sitting at right angles to where he had started out, and mustering all his courage, he looked to his right.

Golden hair, blue eyes, and concern written all over his face. Arthur. And the king was reaching out and gently drawing his servant near. Merlin curled up, head against his king's chest as the cloak was drawn back over him and a hand gently carded through the hair on the back of his head.

'I'm not leaving you, Merlin,' Arthur repeated.

They sat like that for a while, neither speaking, Merlin listening to Arthur's steady, strong heartbeat. Then he felt him draw breath.

'Now, do you think you can tell me? About Morgana, and the dragon, and- about magic?'

Merlin nodded slowly and haltingly began to recount the story of his arrival at Camelot, his struggles with destiny, and his regrets about the intervening years. How long it took, neither of them knew, but when it was finally over, they both sat in silence, broken in the end by Arthur.

'Merlin, I have lost my mother, my father, my sister. I will not lose my brother.'

And suddenly, it was all too much, and Merlin howled for the years of fear that rose up in him, the loss of father and friends and lover he had swallowed and kept to himself, the deaths of those he hadn't been able to save, the guilt of a decade of lies and deceit, the darkness that had always been the undercurrent of his life - and the compassion and love of a king he had not dared trust that now overwhelmed him and showed him his utter brokenness.

Through it all, Arthur held him, and if there were tears in his eyes, then there was joy mingled with his sorrow over Merlin's grief, for he knew that this was the beginning of something new. The great barrier had fallen.

* * *

'We'll have to leave this place at some point, you know,' said Arthur some time later.

'How?' asked Merlin simply.

'I was rather hoping perhaps you could…?'

Merlin looked at Arthur blankly.

'You know, magical realm, doorways that magically appear and disappear…?'

Merlin grinned shyly.

'Do you really mean…?'

'Yes, Merlin, I really do mean.'

'I would love to, but…'

'You know, I'm starting to wonder whether this place stops people from finishing their sentences. But what?'

'When you were asleep, and we couldn't move you, I tried to see what enchantment you were under, but I couldn't find anything. It was very strange. It was so obvious that you were under a spell and I couldn't find it. I've only really just realized why. When the Dark King spoke to me-'

'Stop right there. The Dark King _what_?'

'Ah. Yes. He spoke with me, just after we found you. He told me… He told me that Destiny had abandoned me, and that you were in his power, and that he would take my power for himself, and break free from this place. He- hurt me.' As he saw Arthur's face grow darker with each word, he quickly continued, 'Anyway, it doesn't matter. I could _feel_ him, Arthur. And I realized just now that I still can. I can feel him everywhere, all the time. The reason why I couldn't feel the spell you were under was that this place is absolutely covered in magic. I couldn't tell when I came in because it's _everywhere_. The air, the walls, everything. It's all thick with enchantments. His enchantments. Trying to pick out any one individual spell when you're completely surrounded by them is almost impossible.'

'So what are you saying?'

'Even if the door really is there - if the door isn't a spell in its own right - I don't think I could find the spell that's covering it. Either door, actually. The one that leads outside or the one that leads to the tunnels.' He looked at Arthur. 'You shouldn't have stayed. You could have gone. You _should_ have gone. Then you wouldn't be stuck here with- me.'

'Merlin,' said Arthur, a warning tone in his voice. 'I made up my mind. I don't regret it, and I don't want to hear you talk like that. I chose _you_.' He thought for a moment, and then said, 'Why don't we at least have a look? Just in case you _can_ find anything.'

Merlin looked at Arthur doubtfully, then smiled. If his king commanded it, who was he to resist?

'Alright. We won't know until we try.'

'Can you stand up?'

For an answer, Merlin shakily pushed himself off the floor, and Arthur, rising with him, steadied him as he too stood.

'Of course, there's another thing,' said Merlin slowly. 'He's here. He hasn't gone anywhere. I doubt he'll like us trying to-'

And with that, as if it had only been waiting for Merlin's words, the temperature suddenly plummeted. They both looked around sharply and started as they beheld a vast dark mass, shifting like smoke, sitting on the great throne. Its shape was roughly that of a man and on its head was a blazing golden crown, and though it had no eyes that they could see, both men could feel its gaze as a physical force settling upon them, boring through them, disdainful and full of contempt.

Then, the Dark King spoke and his voice echoed around the hall.

'Do you truly think to defy me, Emrys? Did I not tell you that I take what I want? And now, I will take you.'

With those words, the figure rose, standing to an impossible height. A horrible high-pitched keening filled the air, like the cry of some awful creature of myth, locked away for centuries, bewailing its fate. A sense of loss, of loneliness and fear and endless days imprisoned in darkness, slammed into Merlin and he almost choked for the sheer power of it. Looking at Arthur through half-opened eyes, he could see the same feelings written on the other man's face.

Before he had time to come to terms with this, a new dread filled him and he looked back at the Dark King. The figure had raised its arms out to its sides, and from its hands a darkness flooded out, streaming around the edges of the hall towards them swiftly, two rivers of blackness racing towards them. One curled around behind them and one in front, and when the two rivers met, they leapt up and became a great rushing, screaming gale, howling in a mad frenzy of fury and destruction, consuming the blue light of the hall, twisting around them, buffeting them, making them double over, shrieking, piercing their ears so that they clutched at them, an enormous tower of blackness that stretched up and up infinitely around them and left them like men standing on the last tiny patch of dry land as the flood comes in.

Merlin, now gasping and on his knees, stretched out one hand above him, palm up, fingers stiffly splayed outwards and cried out in a language Arthur didn't understand. A column of pale white light leapt up around them, stretching upwards, as tall as the darkness, until it became a pinpoint somewhere far above them. The darkness beat against the light furiously, and Merlin held his head and moaned as Arthur knelt beside him and put one arm around his shoulders.

'You will not resist me, Emrys!' the voice rang out of the roaring darkness, and suddenly Merlin looked very small and fragile to Arthur.

'Arthur!' yelled Merlin, trying to make himself heard above the sound of the gale. 'It's me he wants! I'll-'

Arthur clamped a hand over Merlin's mouth and shook his head.

'Not this time!' he yelled back. Then he looked up, and cried out into the darkness, 'Mágos! Listen to me!'

The swirling gale seemed to slow fractionally, almost imperceptibly, as if taking account of Arthur for the first time. Perhaps it was his imagination. Then the voice came again, now hissing in its contempt and yet cutting clearly through the howling blackness.

'And why would I listen to you, little king of a far-off land? You are nothing. A means to an end. I number men greater than you among my servants. The prize lies beside you, fading, _mine_.'

'You shall not have us, Mágos!' The words were bold, but Arthur's voice sounded small and and his words seemed to fall flat, barely carrying.

'I care nothing about whether I have _you_ or not!'

Arthur slowly stood up, pulling Merlin with him. He spoke more quietly now.

'And still I tell you that you shall not have _us_ \- not together, not separated. _I know you_.'

The darkness lashed out again at the barrier, and Merlin gasped. Arthur's arm slipped under his friend's and wrapped around his torso as he held him close, Merlin's back to his chest.

'You have no power over us, Mágos.'

The voice laughed and it echoed around them until they could feel it rising up from deep within the ground, rising up and through their bones, a great cascade of dark laughter as of a power undefied and undefiable - but Arthur stood unmoved. His face and voice were grim, and as he spoke, it struck Merlin that the Once and Future King had finally come into his own.

'Your plan has failed. Your power is built on the fear and hatred that you sow in men, that they might betray each other, even as you were betrayed, and so ruin each other, even as you were ruined, that despair should become all they know, that they would gladly hand themselves over to you to escape it and so seal each other's fate. But I tell you that I will not betray this man, and that his despair is over, and that you have no hold over us.'

'Then you shall be witnesses to your own destruction!' roared the Dark King, and the darkness amassed for one great final assault.

'And you shall be entombed here forever. For is it not true that Merlin is the only one who could free you? Is that not why you wanted to take him? And yet I know no man more compassionate than him. Were you a man of compassion yourself you would know that had you but asked him, he might have given you what you craved. He might have set you free. But you know only destruction, now, and so you will reap only destruction. The prison you have built yourself will be yours forever. Have you not waited many, many lives of men, and yet you find yourself no closer to escape?'

There was no reply except the darkening of the blackness around them.

'Destroy us,' spoke the Once and Future King, 'and destroy your hope in eternity. But when you have done that you will only despise your misery and loneliness all the more, knowing that we offered you the only hope you had of escape - and that you cast it aside. You have but this one chance. Come to us.'

Nothing.

'I know you. I have known your betrayal, at first hand. I have seen through your eyes, I have felt your anger, I have known the bitterness of your loss, and the rage and the deceit and the malice you have embraced. _I know you_. And still I say: come to _us_.'

Still nothing. Merlin closed his eyes, preparing for what was to come, and so it was only Arthur who saw how the spinning darkness slowed until it seemed to drift around them aimlessly, and then, thinning until it looked like smoke, poured down the outside of the tower of light and disappeared into the ground. The blue glow and warmth of the hall returned as silence fell. Merlin's eyes flicked open in surprise and Arthur slowly released his grip.

They looked at each other, hardly daring to believe.

* * *

 _Tap_.

The sound of iron against stone.

 _Tap_.

Wary, Arthur and Merlin looked around once more, wondering what approached now, and they beheld, walking towards them slowly, a hooded figure, stooped over, almost bent double, leaning heavily on a stick clutched in its right hand. A thin, tattered brown robe swept the floor as he shuffled forward.

It seemed to take an eternity for the man to cross the space between the throne and them, and when he finally arrived, they could hear him labouring for breath. The hand that held the stick was withered and mottled with age.

'Mágos,' said Arthur quietly.

The hood of the robe was slowly lifted, and they looked upon a wizened, pale face. Sallow skin covered gaunt cheeks, but it was the eyes that caught their attention. They were ashen grey and in them was written the pain of loss and rejection.

'I had not thought,' the old man croaked slowly and with an effort, 'ever to take this form again. It is… painful. Not long after,' he swallowed, ' _he_ left, I realized that this body would not bear the darkness and lack of food and water long, and I laid it to rest. It is barely held together.'

The two others stared at him, unsure of what to say.

'How- long have you been here?' Merlin finally asked haltingly.

'I do not know,' whispered the old man. 'Forever. I remember the feel of rain on my skin, and the heat of the sun, and the cold of the wind, but they are as another man's memories, not my own. And all because of- because of _him_. Because of-'

'It was not because of him,' Arthur cut in. 'It was not he who gave you unnaturally long life.'

The old man bristled. 'How _dare_ you-'

'Ianus imprisoned you, Mágos, but he did not curse you to live forever. He betrayed you, but he did not condemn the souls over whom you have made yourself master. He lied to you and ruined you, but you cannot hold yourself blameless. You allowed hatred and vainglory to rule you, and for that, many besides you have paid the price. Do not blame another man for what you have done to yourself.'

The ancient sorcerer visibly deflated at Arthur's words.

'Ianus died long, long ago, Mágos. If what I have read holds any truth, he met his end in dragon fire not long after he left you here.'

Mágos stared at Arthur, then his head dropped once more.

'I should rejoice at that news,' they heard him say, and then his voice cracked as he continued, 'yet I find in myself only sorrow.' He looked up again and tears ran freely down his cheeks. He made no effort to wipe them away. 'How you have _hurt_ me, you two men from the world above. How you have hurt me with your fidelity, your loyalty. I had buried all memory of those things and you have uncovered them mercilessly. And now I am left broken, a shadow of the man I once was. What have I become? I have enslaved countless men to satisfy my desire for revenge, and yet I have found no satisfaction. When you came here, I thought you no more than any of the others who have come. You would be driven apart easily enough, and once despair took hold I would claim another man's power for my own. Then I beheld your- your _love_ , and though I raged against it, it stood firm.

'I underestimated you, Arthur Pendragon. I thought that Emrys was the one to be reckoned with, yet it was you who stood by him when he had given up and you who reminded me of what I had lost all those years ago. Some part of me wants to hate you for that, but I cannot. I look upon you and I am reminded of what should have been, and why it would have been good for it to be.

'Yet I perceive that even now you do not fully understand what I see. I will show you.'

He held out a hand towards them, and spoke.

' _Glæm ácýðe sóþ_!' he commanded.

A gentle golden light sprang up around Arthur and Merlin. In that light the blue of the hall seemed to fade to nothing.

'The spell reveals the truth of what is in men's hearts towards each other. When I too stood in the service of a king, he would call upon me to use this spell to determine whom he could trust,' said the ancient sorcerer. 'Would that I had had the wisdom to use it for myself.' He stood wordlessly for a moment, then continued, 'Such is the quality of your friendship. You should know what you have in each other. And yet what you have is greater than gold, for you have refused to sell it.'

Merlin swung around and looked at Arthur.

 _'And in the darkness, shining gold,_ 'he said softly with bright eyes. 'He meant friendship.'

' _Bounty for life, beyond all measure_ ,' replied Arthur, and his heart leapt.

'You are blessed beyond your understanding,' whispered Mágos.

* * *

 _Glæm ácýðe sóþ_ \- Light reveal the truth

 **Author's note - part II  
** Given that this chapter really presents the very heart of the story, and given also that it is one of the ones I am least sure about, I want to say a few things about it and what I have tried to do in it - whether successfully or not is of course for you to judge.

One of my complaints about the ending of series 5 is that, whatever weaknesses exist in terms of plot aside, Arthur and Merlin were never permitted to be the fullest friends they could be to each other. Their commitment to each other is enormous, of course, but that last barrier of full trust is only breached in the final episode, and they are not permitted to enjoy that fulness of friendship that comes with fulness of trust. I find it difficult to conceive of writing a story, therefore, which does not permit them to have that, and that is in large part what this story is about.

But more: the series seems to suggest that Merlin is the more emotionally mature of the two (consider the prompt for so many pieces of fan fiction: the difficulty he has getting a hug out of Arthur). I prefer to have Arthur be, or become, Merlin's equal in that regard; that is, to have those two able to express how much the other means to them, both to themselves and to each other. This chapter therefore makes _Arthur_ the crucial character: Merlin has already given in to the despair through which the Dark King seeks to enslave him, but Arthur is the one who returns to him and who refuses to abandon him, and not only because he fears the toll Eorlric spoke of, nor only because he knows that it is ultimately unjust to leave Merlin behind, but because he grasps what Merlin is to him - what it means for them to be friends in the fullest sense. In short, I prefer both of them to say, through words and actions, 'I can't lose him - he's my friend!'

I've tried to underscore Arthur's understanding of Merlin's importance to him by having Arthur understand what the Dark King is trying to do to them by driving them apart and preferring to accept destruction than to abandon his friend (even if there is a serious question to be asked about whether that is a position a king can take), but also to show something of his emotional maturity by having him understand the Dark King's own weaknesses and fears, demonstrated by his response to the King's attack.

Anyway, I hope this chapter works for you. There's one more to come, and then an epilogue.


	9. Made New

**Author's note  
** This is the final chapter in this story. There's still an epilogue to come, but that is set some years later. This is also probably the chapter I'm least certain about - there's a lot of 'explaining', which makes me uncomfortable, but I hope that that doesn't interrupt the flow of the story too much and that you enjoy the ending nevertheless.

Thank you to all of you reviewers for your comments on the last chapter; I appreciate it!

JCR: I think most of us would have found Arthur's death difficult to stomach however it was handled, but perhaps less so if he had been allowed to (1) know his friend properly, (2) live longer, and (3) witness at least the beginning of Camelot's 'Golden Age' (although that might make for difficult TV), so that there was more of a sense of the loose ends being wrapped up and the two of them not being robbed of each other too early. I'm glad this chapter has spoken to you, anyway :)

Guest: 'I don't want it to end' is something every author wants to hear, I think; thank you so much!

* * *

 **Chapter Nine: Made New  
** 'What now?' asked Merlin.

'We leave,' said Arthur firmly. 'I have a kingdom to look after, a wife waiting for me and my men to find. Where are they, Mágos?'

'They escaped the tunnels when I called my servants to witness what was to be your betrayal and my victory, and I closed the door to them. They were not important to me.' His head dipped as he spoke.

'Mágos, I have to ask,' said Merlin, 'if I release you, supposing I can, what will you do?'

The old man looked tiredly at Merlin.

'Once, my intent was to establish my glory in the world of men,' he replied quietly. 'But now I find that Ianus is- dead, and that I am filled with regret at his passing, and that you two have robbed me of my desire for great kingship.'

He paused.

'I could in any event but scarcely defeat you in this realm, Emrys, if at all, and that only because I have laid enchantment upon enchantment for many years in these tunnels. In the world outside- no. And I know the love in which you hold your king and the lengths to which you would go for his sake. I could not establish a throne even if I wanted to. My only hope now is that it will perhaps be permitted to me to live out my remaining days in quiet somewhere. I do not think they will be long once I leave. But I must ask you,' he said, turning to Arthur, 'do you truly mean to set me free? For I will not hold you here, whatever your decision, but I confess that I do not desire to die here.'

Arthur looked long at Mágos. Finally, he spoke.

'If you had remained in these tunnels, merely brooding and seeking a way out, I would have nothing to say to you. But you have wronged many, bringing despair upon them and enslaving them and putting on them unbidden that same unnaturally long life which you have given yourself. I could leave you here, and it would be just. I could imprison you, and it would be just. I could execute you, and it would be just. Yet I am not sure that any of these would be more just than to set you free. I know your heart and your mind, and I do not doubt the sincerity of your words. You will carry the weight of guilt for what you have done and what you have become for the short remainder of your days. And more: sometimes there is a place for mercy in judgment, and if that mercy is not for the contrite, then I don't know whom it is for. I would allow you to see one more time before the end what you left behind through your self-imposed sentence. If Merlin will do it, then I will permit him to set you free.'

'I will, if I can,' said Merlin, and turned to the sorcerer. 'What do I have to do?'

'I do not know,' said Mágos wretchedly. 'I have never undone spells of the kind that Ianus laid. The only clue I have found is the inscription on the doorway, but I cannot read it all. Half of it is on the other side, where I cannot go.'

'Perhaps that's why it made no sense when Elyan tried to read it,' said Arthur thoughtfully. 'He could only see half the inscription.' Turning to the sorcerer-king, he asked, 'Will you take us there?'

The words were barely out of his mouth before the hall around them whirled and the blue winked out of existence and was replaced by darkness.

'The doorway is directly before you,' came Mágos' voice from nearby, echoing along the tunnel. Then a light flared, and he was holding a flaming torch which he handed to Arthur. 'Your men will be more comfortable with this, I suspect, than if I use my arts to light this place,' he observed wryly.

As he said this, they heard voices calling.

'Arthur?'

'Sire!'

'It's alright,' Arthur called out, stepping through the doorway. 'We're alright.'

'Arthur!' Merlin recognized Gwaine's voice. 'We tried to come back for you, but-'

'I know, Gwaine,' he heard Arthur say surprisingly gently. Their voices faded as they moved away from the doorway.

'I am not sure that you know how well off you are to have him,' said Mágos quietly to Merlin. 'Even now, he protects you.'

'What do you mean?' asked Merlin in surprise.

'Why do you think he draws them away?'

A sharp exclamation drifted across the cavern to them. Gwaine, again.

'I- I don't know.'

'Because he seeks to keep your secret for you until you are ready to disclose it. He sees your fear, and he fears for you, and he guards you, that they might not see what you are about to do.'

Merlin felt a lump in his throat as he realized that the old sorcerer was right. Arthur was protecting him. He wondered how often he had failed to see that his king was looking after him in the past.

He was startled out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. Mágos nodded towards the others, and Merlin saw three torches heading across the cavern towards the tunnel they had first come from, and one heading back towards them.

'What did you tell them?' asked Merlin, still a little nervous, when Arthur returned.

'I simply asked them to trust me and told them that I would explain later. I have no idea what I'll say then, but we can cross that bridge when we come to it.'

'Shining gold,' said Mágos, and when Arthur turned to look at him he was surprised to see him smiling.

'Yes. Well,' muttered Arthur. 'Anyway. Your turn, Merlin.'

'Oh. Yes. Of course,' said Merlin, and reached out for Arthur's torch. Stepping from side to side he slowly read the inscription on the pillars. A frown appeared on his face as he read and re-read the first line and then started running his fingers over the runes. Shaking his head, he moved on to the next line. Finally, he sighed and said, 'I've never seen spells like this before. It's not written as a set of commands. It's written in verse, and the sentence structure is odd and I'm not really sure what all of it means. But that's not the only thing. There's some kind of magic in the runes themselves that I don't understand.'

'What do you mean?' asked Arthur.

'That's just it. I don't really know.'

'I do,' said Mágos. 'It is a means of binding magic to a place, common enough in my time, but perhaps rare in yours. But that can wait. Tell us what the runes say.'

Merlin took a breath and slowly read out:

 _'The deep claims you with everlasting bonds  
and by your own power you lie here confined,  
ever blind to the world without.  
And to you the door is shut forevermore  
save that the light of morning should come_,  
 _Love's bright hope, the golden dawn, boldly borne.  
Then beware, for though the door open to you  
you step through it to your undoing._

'Sorry, that's not very good, but that's-' He faltered as he turned to look at the others. The ancient sorcerer's face was rigid, his jaw clenched, hands curled into fists, his body quivering slightly, and it was hard to tell whether he was on the verge of rage or of bottomless misery. Arthur didn't seem to have noticed. 'That's the basic meaning,' Merlin continued uncertainly.

Mágos closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded stiffly. 'I see,' he said quietly and with an air of resignation.

'What does it mean, "by your own power you lie here confined"?' asked Merlin, still watching Mágos.

'Your master knows.'

Merlin looked at Arthur in surprise.

'Ianus' spells were- woven into your magic?' said Arthur hesitantly, trying to recall. 'Like threads into a piece of cloth. And so they became part of it, somehow, and as strong as your power. You hoped to increase your power and overwhelm the spells because they would only ever be as strong as when you were first imprisoned.'

'You have remembered well.'

'So when you found out about me-' began Merlin slowly.

'Yes. For to take your power would be to take magic itself. And even if my theory was wrong, and the spells' power grew with mine, could magic itself be chained by its own power? I do not think so. But I shall never know. Destiny, it seems, has her own plans for you, and perhaps in any event what you have is too great to be taken by any.'

'And love's bright hope?' asked Arthur.

Mágos smiled sadly. 'You have seen it for yourself. The golden dawn. Ianus' spell is built on betrayal and malice. It could not withstand the entry of great love, for love is a power in its own right apart from all other powers. He knew that.'

'But then you're already free!' exclaimed Merlin.

'In a manner of speaking.'

'What do you mean?'

'The threat is in the final line. Your coming has not broken the spell,' replied the old man. 'At least, not fully. So long as I stay on this side of the doorway, it still operates. But the doorway is now open to me.'

'And if you step through?'

'Then I do so to my undoing, as the inscription warns. The spell will collapse and it will take my power with it; the whole cloth will unravel, if you like.'

'Would that be so bad?' asked Arthur.

'When I said that this body is barely held together, King Arthur, I did not exaggerate.' He looked at his hands, and shuddered. 'It is only by my arts that this flesh is preserved, and even so the ravages of time are written all over it. No, if I step through that doorway and am stripped of my power, I will die.'

* * *

'Can't Merlin undo the spell?' asked Arthur eventually. 'You told Ianus the spell could be undone from outside.'

'That might have been possible before you two came in,' replied Mágos, 'but there is now very little holding it together. It is on the verge of collapse, like an old house whose frame is rotten and will give way if it is pushed just a little.'

Merlin looked at the old sorcerer sadly.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I don't know what to say.'

'Do not be sorry,' said Mágos. 'Perhaps it is better this way. You have reminded me of what I once believed in, and you have reminded me that it is better than what I latterly came to believe in. I would sooner have it this way than that in my darkness I had ever escaped and tried to wrest from the grip of others the kingdoms of Albion to myself, so to make every knee bow and my name known and honoured across the lands.' He coughed, a harsh, wheezing sound. 'My regret is not that I might die now, nor that you brought light with you, but that in my foolishness I did not depart this life earlier. Now I must answer for my deeds, for lives taken and souls imprisoned, for slaves made without authority, and I…' He faltered. 'I cannot. But further length of days would not change that: my deeds lie in the past.

'No, Merlin Emrys, do not be sorry that you came, you and the Once and Future King, and that you awoke me from dark dreams. Why should either of you be sorry that you loved the other so well? You might as well be sorry that you had been given one of the greatest gifts a man can know.'

He looked at the two of them keenly, and for a split second, Arthur thought that he saw a change as he read something in the old man's eyes. Envy? But then it was gone, and the sorrow returned as Mágos sighed.

'All that remains now is to do what little good is left to me to do,' he said quietly. He drew himself up and his voice now changed and grew commanding. ' _Ic i ábéonn mín ambihtas._ '

At first, nothing seemed to happen. Then a dull, sickly yellow glow began to appear in the air around them. With a start, Arthur realized that the light was taking the shape of people: pale, ghostly figures pressing in around them from all sides, stretching down the tunnel, a numberless mass. Some wore fine cloth, others little more than rags, some outlandish wear he had never seen before, others tabards of kingdoms long gone, vaguely recalled from history lessons when he was young, and still others would not have looked out of place in the Camelot that he knew. He saw courtiers, soldiers, peasants, druids, sailors, and many he couldn't place at all.

Then he saw the faces.

There were old faces, young faces, some no more than children, nearly all of them men, though he thought he could see some women. They were the Dark King's servants, caught here over centuries of his rule, and in those faces he saw despair written. Here were a people all of whom had been abandoned, by friends, by comrades in arms, by hope; a people who had finally given themselves to the Dark King in their desperation and had been caught in his spell, to dwell here as long as he himself did, mindlessly telling their stories to the furtherance of the false glory of a broken man.

That man now looked upon them sternly and Arthur was surprised to see a nobility in his bearing.

'Long have you served me,' he said into the utter silence, 'and done my every bidding. Little did any of you know when you took service that it would endure so long. And though some few of you were relieved on your own part when you found me, still most of you did not choose this existence.'

Now he too fell silent and looked from one to the next as if he knew them all, and Arthur realized that he _did_. He knew each servant's story and had held each of them in his power, unchallenged. For one long moment the sorcerer closed his eyes in some internal struggle. Then he re-opened them.

'I have wronged you,' he said quietly, 'and no deeds and no words of mine will change or atone for that. But I will speak those words that you have longed to hear since you came here and took service.

' _Béoþ friglæan_!'

As he spoke these last words, his voice took on that same strange quality that it had had when he spoken in the storm of darkness, coming from nowhere and everywhere, rising up through the ground and yet already in the air around them, and the power that inhered in his voice alone made Arthur shiver as he realized afresh how close he and Merlin had come to destruction and how desperate his gamble had been.

A great sighing went up from the assembled crowd and for the briefest of moments, Arthur thought he saw the despair transform to relief on the faces around him before they rose up into the air and vanished from sight.

Mágos stood quietly, then turned.

'Emrys, I would give you a gift, if you permit, since you have given me one.'

Merlin nodded and handed the torch to Arthur as Mágos stepped forward, laying his hands on Merlin's shoulders and speaking softly in the ancient tongue, and soon Arthur could see something moving all around the older of the two magicians. No, not something - some _things_. As he watched, the somethings became dim little golden flecks of light, twisting and curling in a strange dance that Arthur's mind could not quite follow. The little lights grew brighter and sped up their pace as the older man continued to speak. Then, without warning, they burst outward towards Merlin, weaving in and out between and around the two men. The lights grew brighter still, until they had grown so brilliant that Arthur could barely make out who lay behind them.

A word, and the lights rushed joyfully to settle on Merlin. They covered his hair, his face, his body, shining like little suns as they sank under his skin. Arthur had a brief glimpse of Merlin's skin glowing, and then all was dark again and he heard Mágos speak.

'In time, Emrys,' he said, 'my gift to you will seem a little thing. Perhaps that time is not far off. For now, I have given you all I know. Use it wisely.'

Merlin nodded, seemingly unable to speak.

'King Arthur,' said Mágos as he turned to the man in question, 'I have nothing to give you - yet it seems to me that you already have more than was ever in my power to give.' His eyes flicked to Merlin then back to Arthur. He continued, 'I have seen your heart and your mind, and I will predict this much: though you and your people now learn the name of my king whose bidding I did when I came to this land, your name will be remembered long after his is forgotten.

'And now, my lords, you must go, for I do not know with certainty what will happen when the spell ends, but you must be on the other side of the doorway when it does.'

Arthur looked at Merlin, and finding him unmoving softly laid his hand on his friend's elbow.

'Come on, Merlin. It's time to go home.'

Merlin looked Arthur in the eyes, and Arthur saw unshed tears there. He nodded in understanding before leading his friend past the pillars and turning around.

The ancient sorcerer-king stood one step away from the stones, his eyes following their every move.

'Hail, Once and Future King. Hail, Emrys.'

And with those words, Mágos, sometime servant of Bruta, once among the greatest of magicians to walk the earth, lord of his domain, betrayed and betrayer, bowed low. Then he stood upright, his eyes fixed upwards as his lips moved silently. He stepped between the doorposts, and was gone.

* * *

The two men stood for some minutes looking at the entrance to the tunnel.

'Did you always intend to set him free?' Merlin asked quietly.

Arthur looked at him sidelong.

'Not much gets past you, does it, Merlin?' He paused. 'I was willing to help him, but not in the way he wanted. Not at first, anyway.'

'What do you mean?'

'My only priority was to get all of us out of there. I didn't have much sympathy with him at first. It may sound cruel to say this, but he didn't have to carry on living. That was his decision. And it seemed to me that there was another way for him to escape which _he_ told me about, but had apparently forgotten. Or perhaps he was too proud, or wanted revenge too badly, to take it.'

'What way?'

'He told Ianus that sorcerers can give up their magic.'

'He- _what_?'

'Yes. And it seemed to me that that was one answer to his imprisonment. I don't know anything about magic, but if a spell depends on someone's power to imprison them and that person gives up their power, then presumably…' His voice trailed off. 'Anyway, my original plan was to get him to let us out on the pretext of unweaving the spell, and then to tell him that he had a choice if he wanted his misery to end: he could give up his magic and walk free. We would all gain: you and I would be free, he would be free, if he wanted, and we would have had nothing to fear from him. And alternatively…'

'What?'

'He gave himself long life. He didn't have to carry on doing that.'

Merlin looked at Arthur in wonder.

'Arthur, you really _are_ a great king. I had never even heard of sorcerers giving up their magic. And yet what you say makes perfect sense.'

'Impressed you, have I? About time.'

'Don't let it go to your head.'

As they were about to turn, Merlin suddenly took hold of Arthur's sleeve.

'I- I need to ask you something. What you said, about sorcerers giving up their magic. I don't think- I mean, I'm not sure I- that I could-'

'Merlin,' said Arthur gently. 'Stop it. I've already told you that I chose _you_. I chose you as you are. I'm not going to ask anything of you. Except that you be my friend.'

Merlin's eyes shone in the firelight.

'Come on,' his master said. 'The others are waiting.'

* * *

'Arthur!'

'Merlin!'

Shouts rang out across the cavern from the remaining knights as the two men headed towards them. Backs were slapped, embraces and words of appreciation exchanged - but, Merlin noted, he was not asked what had happened. Whatever promises Arthur had extracted from them, it seemed that they kept their word. Even Gwaine managed to keep his curiosity to himself. He was glad.

'Let's not stay here any longer than we have to. I've had enough of the dark,' said Arthur, and stepped into the tunnel.

'Sire?'

'Yes, Percival?'

'We don't have to go back this way.'

'What do you mean?'

'There's the rockfall, and I have no idea how long we've been here for but it might be night time outside, and there's no guarantee that we'll actually be able to get up the cliffs again. But…'

'Yes?'

'I remember, sire. I mean, I remember how the sorcerer got in here. We could go back that way.'

Arthur glanced at Merlin, who looked back at him hopefully.

'Lead on, Sir Percival.'

* * *

The tunnel into which Percival led them was broad, and even as they stepped into it Merlin could feel the movement of air on his face. He breathed deeply, savouring every breath as he realized that they were, at last, heading home. He was once again bringing up the rear, and looked behind him one last time.

'Goodbye, Mágos,' he whispered. 'May you find forgiveness.'

Then he ran after the others, catching up with them and following the flickering torchlight until a tiny pinprick of blue appeared somewhere ahead of them. With each step it grew until it was undeniably daylight, and warm air was streaming into the tunnel and the men were running, running as hard as they could.

Dazzling sunlight burst upon their sight as they bowled out of the tunnel on a glorious spring morning, blinking furiously and collapsing on to the grass, drinking in the cloudless sky and revelling in the exhilarating joy of leaving the endless darkness behind.

They lay there a long time, no one speaking. The air was warm and still, and when a thrush sang out from the great birch tree on one side of the hollow, Percival's head snapped up.

'Percy?' said Elyan.

'I remember- all of this,' said the big knight. 'I'm glad it's all over. For everyone.'

* * *

The journey back to Camelot was swift, but little went unnoticed on their journey: the new green tips on the fir trees, the striking delicate purple of foxgloves and the gentle yellow of cowslip and primroses, and the startling red of sundew.

'Look, Merlin,' said Arthur quietly as they rode, pointing towards the flowers on an ash tree. 'Everything's being made new.'

Merlin looked at Arthur in surprise.

'I didn't think you held with girly things like flowers.'

'No, but I know that you like them, so I thought I'd point them out to you.'

Merlin grinned, and Arthur grinned back.

'We're heading into a new time, Merlin.'

That night, Merlin dreamt that he sat in a great tree atop a hill, and light streamed out from it across the land, and his heart was filled with joy.

* * *

 _Ic i ábéonn mín ambihtas_ \- I summon my servants  
 _Béoþ friglæan_ \- Be those made free


	10. Epilogue

**Author's note - part I  
** This epilogue leaves a lot of questions unanswered, but that's because, in the end, I didn't really want to answer those questions. This story was always first and foremost about Arthur and Merlin's friendship, and it seems to me that the story of magic's return is for someone else to tell. So if that's a little disappointing, forgive me! **  
**

* * *

 **Epilogue  
** The Queen of Camelot was a woman of the people. In fact, Gwen had made it quite clear to her then husband-to-be that if she was to marry him, she would not leave her roots behind. He had not complained. At the time, of course, he had not considered that this might mean wanting to walk through the market unaccompanied by guardsmen.

'But what if someone kidnaps you?'

'Don't be silly, Arthur. Who would kidnap me?'

'You were kidnapped even _before_ you became queen. Now that you _are_ queen, it's even more likely.'

'Arthur, I know you want to protect me, but I'm not going to take soldiers with me just to go to the market. Kidnapping isn't exactly common, and if it does happen then you can come and rescue me. It wouldn't be the first time.'

The king hadn't looked at all happy, but at that moment his manservant had bustled into the room to collect his laundry, and he had had a brilliant idea.

'Then at least take Merlin.'

'Take me where?'

'Your queen wishes to go to market.'

Gwen had readily agreed. Merlin was her friend and she was quite content to spend time in his company. True, he was a greater threat to any would-be kidnapper than any army, but neither of them would see it like that, and so, that afternoon, Gwen and Merlin had headed to the lower town where they now stood before a stall.

'You know what this reminds me of?' she asked Merlin as she ran her hands over a deep red, velvety material. It was wonderfully soft to the touch.

'What, then?'

'The jacket we gave you for our wedding. What happened to that, anyway? You never wear it.'

Merlin looked slightly guilty, but she didn't notice, her eyes still on the cloth.

'It's, uh, in my wardrobe.'

'What good is it there?'

'Gwen, I can't just wear it every day. It's- well, it's beautiful. I really like it. I'd rather wear it to special occasions.'

'But you _never_ wear it,' objected Gwen, turning to face him. 'I haven't seen you wear it once since our wedding.'

'I have worn it!' he protested.

'When?'

'Well, there was… ah, there was…'

'See? You've never worn it. Don't be ridiculous, Merlin. Clothes are meant to be worn. You should wear it if you like it.'

'But it's special.'

'And so are you.'

'Um- and- well- I mean-'

'Go on.'

His face reddened.

'Well, I'd feel a bit- out of place, wearing it. It's a bit- well, above my station.'

'Oh, Merlin. It's not above your station. You look lovely in it. And anyway, Arthur's tried to promote you countless times and you never accept. You just say, "No, thank you, I'm happy as I am," and don't let him.'

'I _am_ happy as I am!'

'I know you are, but you should allow us to be happy, too, by doing good to you. But you have to accept it.'

'You're already good to me. I couldn't ask for more than I have.'

Gwen looked at Merlin for a moment.

'You really mean that, don't you?' she said more gently. 'You wouldn't ask for more.'

'No, I wouldn't. I'm happy doing what I do. I'm happy to- to be there.'

'By Arthur's side.'

'Yes,' he said quietly.

'That's what you worry about, isn't it? That promotion would take you away from him.'

Merlin looked at the ground.

'Alright,' said Gwen after a pause. 'I promise that we won't try to do anything that would move you away from his side, and you promise to wear your jacket more often.'

'I think I can do that,' smiled Merlin.

'Starting at court tomorrow,' said Gwen in a tone which made it clear that this was not a suggestion. He muttered something unintelligible which she took as the affirmative.

* * *

'I told you that calling a feast for the first day of Lord Hector's arrival was premature,' said Merlin as he served Arthur his breakfast the following morning. 'You know how long it takes to get here from his estates. The chances of him getting here on time were always-'

'Thank you, Merlin,' said Arthur. 'I am the king. I'm not sure why I still have to remind you of that. I'm the one with the pointy crown who decides what happens and when.'

'My point precisely,' continued Merlin, unfazed. 'I said we should hold the feast a few days after his expected arrival in case things didn't work out as planned, but _someone_ decided that the first day would be a good idea.'

He looked at Arthur meaningfully. Arthur glared back.

'It's only morning,' he said. 'Lord Hector may still arrive today.'

'He won't,' Merlin retorted. 'We'd have had a message by now if he was going to.'

'Well, we can have the feast anyway,' said Gwen, emerging from behind the dressing screen and sitting down at the table. 'There's no point in letting all that food go to waste. Thank you, Merlin,' she said, smiling at him as he set a plate before her. 'You look lovely in that jacket.'

Merlin coughed and blushed, hastily changing the subject.

'Have you ever thought about giving the servants a feast?'

'The _servants_?' said Arthur incredulously. 'Merlin, have you lost your mind?'

'As a little token of your appreciation of all their hard work, you know.'

'They already get quite handsome tokens of my appreciation in the form of their pay,' Arthur snapped. 'And if this is you complaining once again that you aren't paid enough, allow me to remind you that you keep rejecting my offers of promotion.'

'Who said anything about me?' said Merlin innocently. 'I just thought-'

'Yes, well, perhaps you should leave the thinking to me. We know what happens otherwise.'

Merlin rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to respond.

'Much as I like to watch the two of you bicker, do you think you could run a message to Gaius that I'll see him this afternoon, Merlin?' interjected Gwen before he could get any further.

'Of course, my lady,' said Merlin with a wink and, giving Arthur a lazy wave, disappeared through the door.

'Don't be late for this morning's court!' Arthur yelled after him just as the door slammed shut.

'Really, Arthur,' said Gwen, 'you're awful. Poor Merlin.'

'What? It's not my fault. He really _does_ reject every promotion I offer him.'

'You know perfectly well that that wasn't what I was talking about.'

Arthur grinned.

'What else was I meant to say to him? I could hardly tell him the truth. And you're just as bad. I know why you got him to wear that jacket.'

Gwen shook her head, but she smiled.

* * *

When their new young king had adopted the practice of hearing the petitions of nobility and peasantry alike in open session every third day of the month, he had immediately risen even higher in the estimation and affections of the common people of Camelot.

'A fair king,' they had said.

'Hears everyone, not like some.'

'He actually _cares_ , see.'

The nobles, predictably, had not been happy. Decorum permitted them to speak first, but not to leave until the last petitioner, however low their status, had been heard.

'Your father would never have-'

'Quite unheard of-'

'Thoroughly inappropriate-'

'I think it's an excellent idea,' Gwen had told him firmly. 'It means that the nobles will have to decide whether it's really worth their time to come to you or whether they can do something themselves, and those who do come will have to hear what it's like not to be one of them. It'll do them no harm at all.'

He now sat on the throne, staring idly at the dust dancing in the shafts of brilliant sunlight that poured in through the windows and lit up the great hall. The throne room was unusually full - Gwen's doing, he suspected - and the lords and ladies had turned out in all their finery.

On another day, the splendour of their clothes, of the oak panelling and carved stone, the coloured glass and the gold would have been striking, but today everything looked distinctly shabby in the sun's radiance, as if to remind them all that true glory lay elsewhere.

His glance strayed slowly over the assembled people and finally landed on Merlin, who was standing next to Gaius and staring at the ceiling in unconcealed boredom. He smiled slightly to himself. Merlin really did look good in that jacket - not that he would ever tell him that. And if he remembered the agenda aright, his friend was about to have the shock of his life.

The king had to pull himself together to stop himself from grinning outright at that last thought and he forced his attention back to what was going on before him. The last of the petitioners was _still_ speaking - an unusually bold peasant from the lower town who had dragged another before the king over some dispute involving a bale of hay and a runaway wagon.

'…and so I came to ask of you, my lord King…'

He sighed. It was a simple case, really. Neither the man nor his neighbour was actually guilty of any wrongdoing beyond wasting his time, but both were incapable of seeing that.

'Enough,' he said, mind made up. 'The damage will be made good by the royal treasury. The only blame that attaches to either of you is that each refused to see that the other needed his help. In future, you will treat each other as good neighbours should and you will not drag each other before the court. Dismissed.'

The two men stood stunned, mouths agape. Whatever they had expected, this was not it. First one then the other swallowed, saying, 'Thank you, Your Majesty,' as the steward led them firmly away and a quiet murmur made its way around the hall before it fell silent again.

Arthur glanced back at Merlin, who was now studying the pattern of the stones on the floor. The edges of his mouth twitched.

'My lords and ladies, and people of Camelot here gathered,' he began, 'there remains one last matter to be addressed.'

At that, Merlin blinked and frowned. The manservant had read the list of petitioners out to Arthur earlier in the day, and there had most definitely _not_ been one last matter to be addressed.

'My father made it a practice of this court to recognize, from time to time, those who served him well,' Arthur continued, 'by rewarding them as that service warranted: with rank, with land, with gold, with court favours.'

Merlin relaxed. He had forgotten that Arthur occasionally did this.

'I have continued that practice because I would not rule as a tyrant, but as one who is grateful to those who enable my rule and who work to the wellbeing of all.'

He paused as a memory struck him, and he said, almost absently, 'I was once told that there are many in this kingdom who believe in the world I am trying to create.'

His gaze fell upon Gaius, who smiled to himself.

'I have seen the truth of that for myself, and if I have a regret, it is this: not that many serve generously, but that I cannot reward all of them as they deserve. But today, I will at least reward a man of great loyalty and great heart, known to all of you as such but never formally recognized before this court.'

The king nodded to the steward, who called out, 'Merlin of Ealdor!'

Merlin's head snapped up and he stared at Arthur in blank incomprehension and terror. Arthur looked back, his face expressionless.

There was a soft nudge at Merlin's elbow, but he couldn't move. His eyes remained fixed on Arthur. He was dimly aware of Gaius saying something. Then the steward was at his side, gently taking hold of his arm and manoeuvring him to the steps before the throne before whispering, 'Kneel.' Somehow, his body obeyed and he found himself on his knees before his king, wide-eyed and struggling to breathe properly as blue met blue.

'Merlin of Ealdor,' said the king, 'you have served me faithfully for more years than I care to remember. It is no secret that your faithfulness, your belief and loyalty, and indeed your friendship, are dear to me, and as the years have passed, your wisdom has grown and taken on importance in the decisions that shape this kingdom. Yet you have refused every new office offered to you. Many within this court have complained to me that it is inappropriate that you remain my manservant - that your role, deeds and commitment should be recognized. I agree with them.'

Merlin's face fell as he realized what Arthur was saying, and tears welled up in his eyes as he mouthed, 'No,' and shook his head ever so slightly.

Arthur looked at him with compassion in his eyes.

'Since you refuse both office and rank, I will bestow upon you all that is left to me to give you, and which you will not refuse: as of this day, Merlin, you shall be a member of the House of Pendragon. I can think of no greater honour that I could bestow upon you, nor is there one I would rather give. I give you this not merely because you have earnt reward, but because of the love in which you hold us and in which we hold you.

'Arise, Merlin of Ealdor, of the House of Pendragon.'

And now the tears flowed freely down Merlin's cheeks as he rose, his face white as a sheet. He barely heard the shouts and the applause. He stood alone before his king, his body shaking as the crowd receded into the background.

'I- I don't want-' he began to whisper, but Arthur, reading his lips, was already moving forward and suddenly Merlin was caught in his arms and unable to speak.

'Public hugging is okay when it's family,' he heard Arthur mutter and he choked on something between a sob and a laugh despite himself.

Then, disentangling himself and gently moving Merlin to stand by his side, the warlock looking hard at the floor, the king cried, 'There is to be a feast tonight in celebration of this adoption, and all are to come!' Cheers and yells met the announcement.

Arthur led Merlin out of the hall.

* * *

Not long afterwards, Merlin sat in a chair at the table in Arthur's chambers, still visibly upset and uncertain. Arthur watched him.

'Why,' Merlin said finally, 'have you done this?'

'Do you remember a conversation we had in the caves at Meredor many years ago?'

Merlin nodded.

' _I_ called you "brother". Now the world will call you my brother.'

'But,' he began slowly, 'what about- Gwen promised- she said! She said I could stay by your side!'

'And you will,' said Arthur calmly.

'But if I'm,' he swallowed and stumbled over the next word, 'royal, I have to- to go and look after- after estates and lands and people and-'

'Merlin, there's only one person you have to obey, now. Not that you ever obey anyone anyway. The only person who can tell you that you must hold estates is me - and I am not telling you that. I am telling you to stay here.'

'I don't want to be a lord!'

'I know you don't. I haven't done this because you wanted to be a lord. I've done it because I want you to have the honour you should have, and I want you to have the power that you should have in order to play the central role in Camelot's life that you already play. And I've done it because I want you to know what you are to me.'

'I- I already know that.'

'And now everyone else does, too.'

'But- what if people plan intrigues or something to put me on the throne instead of you? I don't want power!'

'I know that, too, and that's why you'll find a roll of parchment on my desk, drawn up by Geoffrey, in which you renounce all claim to the throne. It awaits only your signature - if that's what you want.'

Merlin was up in a flash and running to Arthur's desk. Before the startled king could say another word, he'd dipped the feather in the ink and scrawled his name across the bottom of the parchment.

Arthur burst out laughing and even Merlin couldn't help but smile.

'Merlin,' said Arthur as he stood up and walked over, 'I know this frightens you - but think of it like this: you're part of my family now. You need never leave, and you will be freer to do everything you were already doing. You'll still accompany me wherever I go, and you'll continue to advise me. But now you'll sit at my right hand instead of standing behind me.' He paused. 'And you don't need to do my socks any more,' he added. 'Which can't be that bad a thing.'

'It isn't,' said Merlin with feeling.

The two men stood in a slightly awkward silence before Merlin spoke again.

'I'm sorry, Arthur. I didn't mean to be ungrateful. I was just-'

'Frightened, I know. It's alright. It's partly because you worry about these things that I'm glad to have made you even more part of us. Of me.'

They looked at each other.

'How about a-' Merlin began.

'No.'

'But you said yourself-'

'I have no idea what you're talking about. Now shut up and come along. There's a feast to prepare for and your mother is waiting for you.'

'My _mother_?!'

'Did I not say?' grinned Arthur, holding the door open.

* * *

 **Author's note - part II  
** Thank you to all of you reviewed and those of you who, simply through following, let me know that you were interested in the story; it's very encouraging since I can only write and hope that it 'works' for others. To discover that it does is an enormous reward. I found recently - somewhat to my surprise - that I started work on this in late April 2015 (with long breaks, admittedly!), and I'm glad that something which others feel is worth reading emerged over the subsequent year.

Thank you again to wryter501 (whose story-telling I warmly recommend) for all the input and just the general willingness to 'talk "Merlin"' that helped me write this piece; it would at the very least have had far more plot holes without your help, but I think the character development would have been weaker, too.

A word on the title, since the story does not explain it and it would be quite wrong to claim the credit for the key elements of the plot: the idea for this story came from Genesis' song 'Home by the Sea' (the best version I'm aware of is a live performance on YouTube; search for 'home by the sea 1992'). In it, the story is told of a thief who breaks into a house by the sea. He realizes that 'something doesn't feel quite right' and then he suddenly hears, coming out of the dark, the words 'Welcome to the Home by the Sea.' 'Shadows without substance in the shape of men' appear from all around him, and force him to sit down and listen as they relive their lives in what they tell him. They, it seems, are as much prisoners as he is, dreaming of the time they were free. He remains their captive for the rest of his life - and, I think, beyond. The story told in the song has always spoken to me, and that finally found an outlet in the form of this story, even if it was, in the end, just a vehicle for allowing Arthur and Merlin's friendship to grow. There are also countless other influences, of course, some of them stronger, some of them weaker, on the plot, on the ideas about friendship, on the view of the universe, on this epilogue, and so on, as I suppose there must be in every story and every life.

Arthur and Merlin will return, in more senses than one, in 'Cold Genius' - but not for a while.


End file.
